This Woman is not an Island

So trekking in Nepal was actually another one of the things on my south Asian "to do" list. Check.

I arrived in Kathmandu after a long train ride, a couple buses (each of these deserving a blog write up of their own) and footing across the border. The purpose of the visit to the capital was to renew my Indian visa, do some long awaited souvenir/antique shopping, buy equipment for my trek and, tacked on at the last minute, a self diagnosis of my energy sucking, diarrhea inducing, food rejecting illness and some much-needed rest. So in 8 days in Kathmandu (which were 7.5 too many) I succeeded.... for the most part.

I made my way to Pokhara, whereupon I discovered that there were places in Asia that could be both beautiful and quiet. Exactly what I was looking for after 3.5 months in the quicksand that is India. In a rush and up very late the night before, as I often am before I embark on a big trip, I was on the bus headed for the trailhead. I immediately joined the "singles" group of Asaf and Shahaf (obviously Israeli) and David (Ger) and we quickly renounced our previous status. Shahaf had hired himself a porter and, being all caught up in bubbling conversation and the excitement of the trip, we followed him as he marched up the road and off in, what we also didn't know at the time was, the wrong direction. After about an hour when Shahaf asked Joshi (the porter) "Is this the right way?" Joshi smiled, nodded eagerly and said "ya". What we would soon discover was that Joshi smiled, nodded eagerly and said "ya" to absolutely every question we asked him. (This was also most often followed by a hopeful, innocent look and the single question-formed word: "Cigarette?".) So after about 3 hours of walking and talking we found ourselves on the left side of the river directly across from the place we intended to stay that night and we were without a bridge with which to cross the Marsyangdi. So we trudged on and spent the first night in the place intended for night #2. But we were troopers: 2 Israeli boys fresh out of the army, an athlete and....well, a chemist, but he was usually leading the pack; we weren't gonna let this get to us.....we could handle it!

After plodding along for a couple more days it was apparent that dealing with the blisters on my feet wasn't going to go over as easily as I thought. I was prepared to suffer, but geez these hurt, and it was starting to harsh on my nature-enjoying mellow. But I was prepared for this. As I was packing my bags before the trek I was faced with a very tough decision: Birkenstocks or flip-flops? The Birks (despite getting on past 12 years in age) would provide me with the relief I needed when the blisters from my boots proved too much to handle and the flip flops would be my shower-power, keeping my feet both warm and fungus-free. Considering I was planning on being alone most of the time (and who knew if showers were even something that were going to be available) I went with the deluxe German model over the Asian all-weather footgear. Major life choice #1: the right one! Nice, off to a good start. I should also elaborate a bit on the pain that I was actually feeling while walking in these boots. I mean it's hard to have a crappy day when you're walking along the most beautiful valleys in the world in the warm afternoon sun, carrying nothing but essentials with the mightly Manaslu towering over your right shoulder. But these blisters were really ruining it for me. I also had poles and was using them much like my 80 year-old grandfather would have in order to take simple steps on well-trodden trails. It was clear that something was going to have to be done because I refused to suffer like this. So it was at this point where I won the first of many battles with my ego: I accepted the boys' offer to carry my boots and a few other heavier items from my bag. For those of you who know me, this is an absolute no-no for 'Izzy the Island'.

So things were going very smoothly from this point on and after a couple days of marching as 'Izzy the only hippie on the island who wears sandals' I was back in the boots. We slowly ascended through first the tropical, jungle-like parts of the valleys, to the British Columbian-like forests and then into beautiful Himalayan valleys. It was astonishing and I was loving every minute of it.

Much like trekking, life is also peaks and valleys. Day 10 hit and with it disaster struck: I ate a cheese bun. Having diagnosed myself with Giardia (for those of you laymen out there it's also known as Beaver Fever) back in Kathmandu, I took some medicine that has been rumoured to cause lactose intolerance as a side-effect. I really didn't think much of it at the time because I had been feeling so good throughout the trek. But at the base of the Thorung-La pass (5416m) this would prove to be disasterous.

I awoke at 6am the morning we were going to cross the pass and I couldn't sit up in bed without excruciating cramps and the other all-too-familiar discomforts I had been feeling back in Kathmandu. I told Shahaf and David that I wouldn't be able to stick to our schedule and Shahaf, the great team player that he is, offered to stay with me. I did manage to get myself up to High Camp (where people in their right minds would never volunteer to sleep), pausing every 50 steps to regain strength, breath and willpower. This was physically the hardest thing I've ever done as my body wasn't taking up any of the food that I had eaten in the last 20 hours, (nevermind the added disadvantage of being at between 4500-4900m) I actually wanted to die. I spent the rest of that day in bed and when it was too cold at 2pm in my sleeping bag I managed to crawl outside and lay myself on a piece of cardboard under the sun to warm myself up. The sun would be going down at around 3pm and it was clear we were in for an agonizing day and night. At this point it wouldn't be possible for Shahaf to do the pass as he would've liked due to extreme winds that gust across Thorung-la beginning at around 11am. The night at high camp was made extra special with freguent trips to the freezing and windy squatter toilet (which had no window pane) to deal with my diarrhea and vomiting. Suffering was eased a smidgin when I realized it would be much easier for me to just throw up outside my door. As I slithered myself into my sleeping bag for the last time that night, finally feeling a little relief, I vowed that I would get over this pass and to the hospital in Jomson even if I had to hire a ridiculously expensive donkey. I figured that was a better option than heading back down the 10 days from whence I came, where there were no advanced medical posts.

So there I was the next morning at 7am getting my pretty black stallion fitted to carry my pathetic a** over the pass. As the horseman and I trotted past the hoards of people, most of whom had started their ascent between 3 and 4 in the morning, I felt like one of those medievel horsemen, wounded and barely alive and hunched over his trusty steer who is faithfully carrying him back to his village. Other than feeling physically terrible and extremely cold, my ego was also taking a bit of a bashing as I rode past several women who had to be well over the age of 50 and were pushing on without complaint.

Well I made it. I got to the top with the help of a horse and if it's any consolation I did execute the long walk down the otherside; mostly because I had to: it was too steep a descent for the horses. So I guess you can put an asterisk beside the note on my tombstone that says "Crossed the world's highest pass". I have much the same feeling about it as I did when I was a rookie on my University volleyball team and we won the silver medal while I sat on the bench and watched. I was definitely part of it but when the topic is raised in conversation it's one I tend to waiver from quickly. Annapurna 2, Ego 0.

So as I slowly recuperated and said goodbye to Shahaf, I was by myself for the first time on the trip. It felt great to be alone and to be able to cruise at my own pace. But it's also amazing how quickly your mind returns to wandering when you're surrounded by silence. I did give myself a few assignments for my arrival in Jomson, the biggest village on the trek. To give you an idea: they have an ATM, a hospital and even a small airport. Mission #1 was to find a doctor. Mission #2 (upon the completion of Mission #1) was to try and poop in a tiny glass vial and Mission #3 was to withdraw some cash. So as I spent an entire day in Jomson, my already simplified life was reduced to executing one even more simplistically human task....and I failed. But at this point, despite having drained everything from my body the previous 4 days, I was once again on an upswing and I chose to power through and not let this little parasite ruin the rest of my trek.

I trudged on... occasionally running into people I had met previously along the way, traveling with them for a day or two and then disappearing again off on my own to find my own unique adventure of the day. At one point I took a wrong turn and ended up walking along an old trail. I saw the track seemed to be somewhat overgrown and untrodden for quite some time, but still I continued on. I found a very sketchy bridge over a river that exacerbated the uneasiness I felt, but still, I continued on. I walked along the hillside, through the tall grass and crossed a landslide and then scaled a rockwall to get myself back on track. That was about as exhilerating as it got: the risk of tripping, falling down a rockwall into a river without anyone in the world knowing where you are. Whoo....what a rush.

As I felt my strength coming back, the athlete in me started to shine once again and I found myself logging long hours and days; but it's this method of pushing myself and body to the edge that I found really enjoyable. Everyday I would meet amazing people as I sat around the tea house dinner table or communal stove (which heated not only our dinner and the tea house but also the humans and their stinky trekking parefernalia).


There were definitely a couple hard days out there but they also taught me a little bit about myself. I seem to make a choice about something and then I'm so bullheaded that I refuse to let myself waiver from it. For example, when I was returning from the base camp I had this idea in my head that I would make it to a specific guest house. Well, I found myself battling the longest, hardest hill of my trip well into darkness, having an argument with my ego and cursing outloud.
"Why do you do this to us?"
"Oh stop being such a sissy"
"Look at all these guest houses we're passing, why don't we just call it? We're exhausted?"
.....Silence. Walking, sweating, breathing......
This is still something I'm wondering the answer to. But it goes to show how I operate, most likely, in many areas of my life.

It was a couple days earlier when I had also marched the better part of a day that I jotted a few things down:
-# of hours walked: 8
-# of calories ingested: definitely less than I've expended
-# of times caught myself talking to myself: 5
-# of times got a leaf stuck on my pole: 17
-# of times I stopped to remove it cause it irritated me: all 17
-# of times I stopped to turn around cause I thought someone was behind me: 4
-# of times there actually was someone: 0
-think I actually lost my mind today



Day 21: Annapurna Basecamp. Goodnight Irene, I made it! Despite not being as high as some of the places we stayed near the pass (thank God) it was certainly the most beautiful. Volleyball was also being played upon my arrival and I, being forced by some Germans who regretfully knew about my past, joined in. The Nepalese, despite being very short, wearing winter clothes and hiking boots, are amazing jumpers and very skilled and they had no problem showing me up at high altitude. I arrived a 2pm and all of the accomodation in the lodges at ABC sell out around 11. I was offered a tent with a nice think foamy and a blanket and (adding that to my reasonable sleeping bag and hot water bottle) I didn't hesitate for more than 3 seconds before I jumped at the opportunity. Tenting in the Annapurna Sanctuary at 4100m was a special thing. It proved well worth it when I braved the elements at 1am to relieve myself and found the moon glowing right above me, lighting up the surrounding giants.


So that was it. It was over and I was extremely eager, after 21 days, to get back to Pokhara. Battle #3 ensued as I forced myself through another couple long days, but I did make it down in one piece, all limbs in full function.

I'm now making the long voyage to Bombay by train. 35 hours baby.

Talk to you soon

Just when you were living yet another uneventful day......

The craziest thing happened to me today.

But first let me provide you with some relevant information regarding Buddhism:

*Be compassionate, put others before yourself
*The universe will provide for you when you are on the right path, that is to say, we always get exactly what we need.
*No event is by chance.
*What goes around, comes around (aka-Karma)
*Monks live in monasteries and have no belongings. Everything they receive (funds) usually go to the monastic community.

Today I was walking around Kathmandu, having just visited the famous Durbar square with all its monuments and temples. From behind me I heard a friendly "Tashi Delek" (which means Hello in Tibetan). This actually caught my attention (usually I ignore the million hellos I get in a day because they're almost always followed up with "rickshaw, madam", "trekking information", "you like look in my store" etc) because in Kathmandu, this is not a common phrase. Napalese is quite close to Hindi and "Namaste" is the general term. I was joined in stride by an older Asian man who claimed to recognize me from Dharamsala. I nodded, surprised and also a little ashamed because I definitely didn't remember him from any particular encounter I had there. At first I thought he just got lucky and assumed that, with the Buddhist symbol I have on my bag, I had been there. But he then mentioned that he had seen me at the Karmapa's monestary. He was one of the yellow-capped monks from the monastery and had taken part in the puja(see photo) I had been watching (as I recall, I was probaby lingering around there for a good hour). A bit blown away by the fact that this monk remembered me, I had no objections to him accompanying me on my walk to Nepali Immigration. We got to chatting and he mentioned, in a whisper, that he was trying to get to Lhasa. When I asked him where he was staying he kind of shrugged it off and mentioned that he wasn't. When I told him that I had been feeling sick he immediately removed the red ribbon he had around his neck and gave it to me, mentioning that I now had the blessings of the Karmapa and His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I felt honoured and humbled by his simple gesture. When I told him I was from Vancouver, he mentioned that he, as one of the Karmapa's 25 monks, would be making a trip there next March and that I could sit beside my new friend during his teachings. I was excited at the opportunity this would present for me to meet the Karmapa again, not to mention the fact that I could actually sit with the monks! It seems to me that every conversation I get into ends with the person wanting money from me. And sure enough, this time was no different. But the one thing that was, was the fact that Norbu Dorje Lama actually never asked for help. He was trying to get to Lhasa to see his mother who is ill. He has requested that the Chinese allow him entry and they told him to come back with XXX Yen and they would let him in and drive him to the Tibetan capital. This is a crazy, pretty much impossible amount of money to ask of a monk. He just kept saying how happy he was that he had found me and kept saying occasional prayers to the heavens as we cruised the streets of Kathmandu. So we walked for a while and the thought that this was some crazy guy who has come up with a really good story to con yet another foreigner crossed my mind many many times. But this guy was walking around with nothing but the clothes on his back and a few rupees in his pocket and just as the thought was in the process of crossing my frontal lobe for the 17th time, he stopped mid sentence to help a blind man across the street. Was Buddha trying to tell me something?

I listened to my heart and I followed the signs and I decided to help Norbu out and give him the money. He had many offerings and promises for me for when we meet again in Canada, but I won't hold him to it, I know he'll do that himself. I don't ask for anything in return except for the confirmation that the words exchanged between us were the truth..... and that will only come if and when we meet again.

It blows my mind how life worked out for Norbu today, and I'm pretty sure he's thinking the same thing. He says he's been waiting 49 years to meet me and today he did, at exactly the right moment. As for me, we'll wait and see what the Buddha has in store. I hope that I can show Norbu and his lama posse around our world when they come. He asked me if I had a boat as he made paddling gestures with his hands....he really has no idea. He also said that he and a few other lamas would come to my house and create a thangka painting for me.....I'd love a snapshot of that.

So that was my good deed of the day. I followed that up by walking into a Trekking agency and yelling and swearing at the guy there for 30 minutes for ripping me off.

Peaks and valleys, I guess.

Izzy's Big Step

So I'm in the midst of reading The Alchemist (I know, I know, a little late) and am totally washed up in what Paulo is saying: People need not have fear of the unknown if they are capable of acheiving what they want and need (Which we all are). I guess the biggest problem we all face is clouding this view of what we want and need with what we think we want and need and living the rest of our lives unhappily trying to achieve it. Some are lucky however, they have a major moment in their lives; sudden realizations, a death of someone dear, a near fatal accident, a drastic life change; and they are able to turn on the windshield wipers and see the road, and realize that they are the ones who are actually driving the car down Unhappy street. Lo and behold, they take a left turn, not because they know where the road will go, but for God's sake it'll get me off Unhappy street!

So I'm kinda driving a rickshaw through the rocky roads of India with no idea about what I might find, but with an idea of the things that I like, that attract me. Whether that be art, culture, music, people...whatever. And being a rickshaw, people jump on, we have some good times, some good conversations and then they jump off and we all move on.

So I attracted something. Actually, I hit it...like a garbage-devouring black bull on the side of the road in the middle of the night (FYI: bulls/cows pull rank over any vehicle on the road). I met a nice Indian boy (and my metaphorical rickshaw was written off).

Actually we were set up and it occured by the means of what I thought were simply meaningless everyday choices. So let this be a warning to you all! Every step you take, whether you decide to turn into the Starbucks or strike up a conversation with the bum on the sidewalk, you're CHOOSING that moments path on the infinite number of paths in your life time. So as I passed on my phone number, and I'll be the first to admit that I was sceptical, as I'm sure you all are right now, the way I figured, I had been travelling(rickshawing) with strangers-become friends anyway, what was the harm in meeting a local and going on a road trip with him and his friends? To me it really was no different.

After spending 6 weeks talking to him on the phone, we decided to meet up and head north to Ladakh, one of the only places in the world where Tibetan culture is still fully preserved. He picked me up in his jeep in Delhi and the following day we left, escaping the Sept.13 bomb blasts by a mere 3 hours! As we zipped along the highway and heard the news (we were at one of the blast sights earlier that afternoon) I really felt that something else was (and still is) at play, pushing me around this map and watching over me. In this moment I checked myself, gave my head a shake and gave thanks for my precious life. This was all reinforced 3 days later when we traversed the highest motorable road in the world and popped out the other side during the beginning of a fatal snow storm that would trap hundreds of tourists in the mountain camps for 3-4 days.

Suddenly my travels in India were upgraded. I was now cruising with 3 local guys (we picked up his friends just after we left Delhi) in a 4x4 jeep, rickshaw long forgotten. I spent the last month hitting all the major tourist sigths in northern India and then some; for the past 10 days I was in a remote village with Ajit's extended family who are still keeping the traditions of the caste system very much alive and where the entire population was presented with their first white visitor. Needless to say, I was treated like a princess.

I've now escaped for a few weeks into Nepal to take a break from the intense 3.5 months in India. I plan to trek Annapurna and will renew my visa here; I've decided not to go to AUS/NZ but to return to south India for Christmas and New Years.

I leave you with this:

The floor of a crowded concert hall, trying to push myself to the front in order to get a better view. After battling for hours and hours, sweating, pushing, being pushed, scratched, bruised and battered, I get a glimpse. But it's not better, it's just closer, and there's a huge, tall sweaty guy infront of me and the music sounds the same!

Defeated but still happy, I now let the crowd do the jostling and see where it takes me - after all, no matter if I'm stage left, front and centre or at the back of the park - I'm having a good time taking whatever the band throws at me, wherever I am. I'm open to letting someone take my hand and lead me around. Maybe I can help them have a good time. I'm dirty, stinky and shoeless, what have I got to lose?

I think that might be what my life is for: providing the hand (or many hands) for people to hold. I think that's what all our lives are for. Let's let go of what we want and let someone hold onto us. Someone is holding onto me now, and I'm actually letting him. He's taking me amazing places and I've actually discovered that after a while, I've started to hold onto his hand too.

Beautiful things happen when you stop trying and just let life take you on it's own journey. Makes me wonder where I would be had I done it at a different time, say 5 years ago. But that's the way the world works: in all its beauty, it's absolutely perfect.

Paulo says there is a force that wants you to raelize your own destiny, just read the omens amd you'll come across your treasure.

(Kool)Deep in India

I needed a change of scene. Emily(AUS) and I hopped on a rickshaw and travelled the 45min down the road to Haridwar. It was recommended to me by many people as a "must see" as it is located on the Ganges and is famous in India for it's amazing Aarti ceremony that is held every evening and attended to by thousands of people. I would compare it to a major concert in a park. The question I ask myself is how these events run so smoothly and we require hundreds of cops, security guards and rules to keep our civil society in line. The chaos in India just has a way of organizing itself.

On day 3, Emily and I separated on the side of the highway as she hectically struggled to pack herself into an overloaded rickshaw. I was once again alone and looking forward to it. But lo and behold, I quickly had a new friend take her place. His name was Kuldeep, he was 15 and new about 10 words of english. Combined with my 5hindi words, we somehow managed to entertain eachother.

We cruised around Haridwar all day and night weaving and overlapping streets several times. Due to his 15 year-old hormones, we were not allowed to stop too long in one place. But somehow his speediness and presence supplied me with a strange comfort. He would answer for me when one of the many beggars would ask for baksheesh and steer me, zigzagging through the maze of people at a pushy teenager's pace as he guided me through the bazaars, over bridges and in and out of temples. The dinner and new shirt I bought him were a small consolation for what he led me to discover.

Walking along the Ganga late at night, it was packed with beggars, saddhus, and homeless families living and spending the night along the riverside. Unexpectedly, I felt safe despite the eerie, dark surroundings. I realized that even though India's population is vast and it's energy overwhelming, the people are innocent and full of love. They just want to meet me and shake my hand and share their english phrase with me. It is amazing that I can turn the staring, confused, furrowed brow of an old man into a bashful, appreciative, head-waggling grin with a simple smile and heartfelt "Hello".

Until you've had explosive diarrhea while simultaniously violently vomiting over a squatter toilet in an ashram at 12000ft in the Indian Himalayas....

...you haven't really lived!


Rishikesh is famous for its yoga ashrams and it's beautiful location. For you Gen-Xers out there, this is where the Beatles came to record the White Album back in the day. It's one of the first major cities to straddle the Ganga as it shoots out of the Indian Himalayas and hundreds of pilgrims are found bathing along the ghats everyday. My intention was to come here and see what sort of yoga courses I could enrole myself in. I discovered that most of the intensive programs were starting towards the end of Sept/beginning of Oct and so I settled for an Ashram stay and 2 yoga classes a day. Aside from this, I spent some of the afternoons going on day hikes to holy temples and also bathing a day's sweat off in one of the waterfalls in the area. I found that alone-time wouldn't be a burden in this tourist haven and new friends are made readily available. So I settled in to my routine and was about half-way through my 7-day Kundalini course when I got side-tracked. A hard-core Swiss mountaineer named Isabelle got my attention when she invited me to go on a multi-stop trek adventure in the north of Uttrakhand, which, I didn't know at the time, is very famous for it's 4 holy sites located along the rivers that flow into the Ganges. She was intending to hit 3 out of the 4 and estimated that it would take about a week to 10 days.

We boarded the public bus at 5:30am and I really didn't know what I was getting myself into. It was the worst bus ride I've ever experienced in my life. I turned to Isabelle about an hour into the trip to get her take on things but she didn't seem phased. This was the normal way of travel, she assured me and she was used to it (this being her third trip to India). The bus was built in 1970, by my estimation, and had the basic structure of a North American school bus. The passenger door at the side of the bus was left open throughout the ride so that people were able to jump in and out of the moving bus as fast as possible, God forbid we stop for a nanosecond to cram another passenger in. The leg space was so minimal that I was forced to sit in the aisle. This actually turned out to be a good thing as the window seats were even more of a disadvantage. There was obviously no air conditioning on the bus so the windows were open all the time, both to keep the passengers cool but primarily to allow sick passengers to vomit out of them. Just like having someone ash their cigarette out the window infront of you, the same law of physics applies with vomit in the passing wind: it doesn't always go out and stay out! So as my knees bashed into the seat infront of me and the rather large Indian fellow beside me and I struggled to stay in our seats, the driver negotiated his way along hair pin turns, puddles and massive boulders left from yesterday's landslide at Schumacher-speed. In India the mountain roads are actually only wide enough for one and a half cars, and so one's horn is actually used while coming around corners to warn oncoming traffic (or to encourage cows, monkeys, humans, rickshaws, horses etc. off the road). The greatest experience of the day was when we jumped off the bus to relieve ourselves during one of the many stalls along the muddy road. There are very few bathrooms, as we quickly discovered, and using their saris to cover their rear ends, the Indian women are used to squatting anywhere on the side of the road. So we walked about 400 meters towards the back of the queue to try and find one of the rare public toilets. These are usually a three-sided cement box with the standard foot pads to use for squatting over the hole in the ground. But there was no hole in the ground, so a lot of the time these are filled with healthy piles of excrement. But when you gotta go, you gotta go. So I undid my pants in speedy preparation to jump in after Isabelle was finished, when the conductor of the bus came running, yelling and flailing his arms. The line had started moving and, because of the single lane roads, the bus would not be waiting. So we ran. I had my blanket draped around my shoulders, was holding my pants up with one hand and splashing visciously through the mud when suddenly my flip-flop snapped and I was forced to run holding it in my other hand and trudge through the mud and God knows what else with my bare foot. We passed about a dozen slow moving buses packed full with Indians getting a kick out of us. We were often reminded of this event as we met people along the way who referred to seeing us on the way. Much of the road trips throughout the 2 weeks were like this. There are landslides constantly during the rainy season and people are forced to hang out and wait until they are cleared and the vehicles are able to cross (this often required an overnight stay). Keep in mind there are no safety standards and if the car can drive over it, it will. It is also not uncommon for jeeps and buses to drive passengers to a landslide, have passengers walk across it and then board a bus or jeep to continue on on the otherside. There was one point where we were forced to jump in a shared ten-person jeep with 14 other people (and two children) for 30 minutes to a landslide. When 5 people across the front row of the jeep proved to be too inconveniencing for the driver, one of the passengers jumped up on the roof to ride with the bags. We also had the pleasure of driving across a fresh landslide. We were told that a bulldozer was coming to clear the rocks (it was just a minor one) and then we would be able to cross. We creeped along the queue to reach the site of the slide to find 3 men standing out in the middle of it, watching the rocks above for any sign of aftershock, and waving cars through one by one. Our driver, who I'm sure wasn't over the age of 19, was as scared as we were as he sped and zig-zagged through the mud for the long 15 seconds of the life-threatening rush.

When we reached our destinations, we would spend the day exploring; visiting temples, holy sights and small mountain villages in the area. It was raining like it can in Vancouver, but being at 3400m up in the mountains, it was darn cold. Glancing around to see saddhus wearing not much more than the robes they live in, hanging out and begging for change in their bare feet really is an awakening. But the pain of frozen toes is relieved for them as they take several dips in the hot springs located near the main temples, one hot spring at each of the 4 holy places...a real wonder. We, unfortunately had to enjoy this at 9pm when all the boys had gone to bed, as the sight of a soggy western gal in a hot spring is enough to reawaken the wrath of Vishnu! As the days cruised along and we started trekking to all the sights, I was beginning to think that the more torturous the journey up to the temple is, the greater the devotion. As I trudged my wet, frozen, tired body up to the Sikh temple at 4300m, wavering between feeling sorry for myself and sucking it up, I passed several sikh pilgrims well over the age of 50 doing the trek in either flip-flops or bare feet. It drives home the point: at what point do we really have a necessity for things and at what point is it just our programmed experience of material wealth that tells us we need it? I mean, after this trip in the mountains, where heat, hot water and clean sheets were non-existent and leaky hotel rooms the norm, I'm still ok. It's nice to have luxury, but sometimes we need to experience the complete opposite to really understand it. Don't get me wrong, I'm pumped for when western toilets will become a part of my life again.

So our trip continued on...with a new challenges several times everyday to keep us present and on our toes. Our last major destination was Gangotri, the mind-boggling 24km long glacier that is the primary source of the Ganges. At the previous mountain towns we were used to getting everything we needed: accomodation, food, water, toilet paper etc. But as we hiked the 13km to Bhojbasa, we found nothing much more than a dismal ashram. This place was no longer a pilgrimmage site since they decided a few months ago to charge entry fee into this area of the mountains. We were actually very happy about this at first as we knew that we wouldn't have to dodge pilgrims and horse dung, nor be the victims of constant offerings for a porter or a horse to carry us up the hill. This place was quiet and beautiful and we had truly picked the best for last. But there was a downside. I had been feeling amazing for the last couple months. Maybe it was due to the lack of alcohol in my diet, or the pure vegetarian meals I've been eating, or the 4 hours of yoga a day, or even the last couple weeks of trekking; I was beginning to feel invincible. I should've known: when there's a peak, there's always a valley. Over the last couple days of our trek I caught a little bug and spent the day of hiking up to 4400m a little under the weather. Attributing it to the food at the ashram, because the Baba who ran the ashram assured me twice that the water was fine, I chose to stick with the simple chapati and jam (which I conveniently had stowed in my backpack) for dinner. That night, I again had trouble sleeping and woke up the next morning with the worst cramps beginning and ending at every corner of my distended belly. I literally couldn't move out of bed and couldn't find relief in any position. I was crying out for my mama and there even came a point at which I told Isabelle that we should get a helicopter into these hills to come get me...."I have good health insurance!" Finally, with no relief in sight, I decided to force myself out of bed and into the bathroom. The rest is left to the title of this blog. I felt instant relief and eventually, after 6 hours of pain that morning, trudged my way back down the mountain. I discovered that it was the water. When Isa told the Baba I was feeling sick and was he sure that it wasn't the water? He did admit that "one may be sick for 2-3 days, but then no problem!" Right, thanks. Water is my weakness and if it's not pure I'm a dead woman. I can eat food from the dirtiest stalls in the north of India, but I can't drink water from a dirty tap in the Himalayas. That's India for ya: always keeping my on my toes, attacking from all angles.

I am slowly becoming desensitized to the attention I get as a white western female. The stares are endless, because it's obvious that staring is not considered rude here (neither is spitting, or coughing without covering your mouth) and the requests for "one snap?" (photo) are ongoing. At first I tried to give myself to every encounter so as to really take everything in; I would stop and chat and strike a pose. But I realized that if I kept it up I would exhaust myself. One snap isn't just one snap because the guy in the group of 10 asked for one but he meant 10. One rupee or one chai for the beggar isn't one because he wants 5 rupees and then a chapati to go with the chai. It's all never enough. At this stage I've just gotten really good at ignoring certain stimuli, not out of resentment or conceit, not because I don't want to help, but because I can't spread myself that thinly. I can't save that beggar, I can't help with the poverty of India, I can't heal the world. But I realized that it's the acts I do engage myself in that I need to engage fully. When an Indian stops me to make conversation their questions are usually limited to: "What your country?" which is followed by "You like India?" But lately, as I repeat the answer "Canada" over and over, I'm just now, after 6 months away starting to realize how far away that is. Not only physically, but also how so mentally removed I am from my previous(and without a doubt, future) life I am. I've begun to notice how much of my life, even here in India, is spent in my head. The phrase: Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans comes to mind. As much as you doubt that, think about your own thoughts - as you drive your car, do your laundry, talk with a friend - how much of those activities are you doing with 100% of your attention? This is the human mind and there isn't a lot we can do about it. But as I sit on the bus careening through the Himalayas on a tiny mud road, occasionally I catch myself lost for the better part of an hour in daydreams, only to shake myself awake and remind myself that I'm in India. It makes me wonder which part of my life is that actual waking state? Is it those thoughts about the future, the past, the fantasies, the plans that we are constantly making (taking up the majority of our mind's time) that is truly awake? I mean, we can go somewhere far far away on our dreams and have it seem more real than the actual world we are living in. The same goes for the daydreams. Maybe India is the dream and my thoughts are the real constant, contrary to what we've always believed. You know, the dream we enjoy so much in the middle of the night and are so upset at losing because our bladder has prodded at us long enough. Then we jump back into bed quickly to try and revive it. Each time I catch myself lost in thought, I force myself back to where I am: the comfortable bed in which I can continuing dreaming my dream of India.

(Isabelle squared taking our holy dip in the Ganga)


Stay tuned for more of Izzy's Adventures in India...... :)

A Typical Travel Day in India

If you are looking for information, and ask 4 different people the same question, you will get 4 different answers. Welcome to India!

My new Israeli friend, Yuval and I had decided to travel to Rishikesh together. I went to the tourist place in MacLeod Ganj to reserve us a couple sleepers on the night train from Chakki Bank to Rishikesh on Wednesday night. Our plan was to take the local bus from MacLeod to Chakki sometime in the afternoon on Wednesday.

I rocked up late to meet Yuval at the bus station to find that him and 3 other girls were clammoring into a cab-van because the time we were told for the bus was actually from Dharamsala (15 minutes down the hill) not Macleod. Upon arrival at the bus stand in Dharamsala, we approached 2 uniformed men that were sitting at the information table to ask whether the 3:40 bus to Chakki Bank was running. One man nodded and the other shook his head. Due to the monsoon, mudslides are an everyday occurence and buses are often incapable of crossing them, so people just get out and walk across the mud and get on another bus on the other side! (We were unaware of this at the time) One of the un-informed, uniformed men suggested we take a jeep-taxi just to be on the safe side. At this point, it's best to hear all the answers and just go with the one that you like best. We liked the taxi idea and considering there was 5 of us, it wouldn't put too big of a dent in the budget and it was the most sure-fire way we'd make our train at Chakki Bank.

Upon arrival 3 hours later at Chakki Bank train station, we were told that all trains had been cancelled from this station because about 100km North, someone blew up the track. Right, of course they did. Being stared at by every Indian in the station, we waited for 40min in the massive line trying to get our refund, combining our naive brain power with other tourists to figure out what other options we had. The thread continued to unravel as we were told that we couldn't get a refund, only our booking agent could. Well our booking agent was back in MacLeod and he would also be keeping half the refund due to the service charge. I personally think throwing money out of a moving car would be more fun!

Yuval, the 3 Israeli girls, another Amercian girl who hitched onto us and I decided to take a rikshaw (6 people and all our bags) to Pathankot, the next town over to try and catch a bus. It was now around 7pm and the public bus to Dehra Dun (somewhere in the right direction) was at 11:30pm. The 3 Israelis bailed and headed to Ladakh....And then there were 3. As we sat in the bus station restaurant, chatting and eating, I decided to pull out Yuval's guitar. Bad idea. We were barraged by about 15 twenty-two year old Indian boys who thought we were the greatest thing next to garlic-cheese naan and proceed to individually introduce themselves and shake each of our hands many more times than once, and ask us over and over our "good" names were, what country we were from, our profession and whether or not we were married (for future reference, I'm a married lawyer. It keeps things simple). When the bus finally did arrive, we discovered that there was only one seat left. But we were welcome to stand.... for 12 hours! Right.

Next plan was to hoof it over to the train station in Pathankot and see what options we had there. After inquiring with the non-english speaking clerk at the "Inquiry" booth we were helped by a random man who suggested we take a train to Amritsar, Punjab and then catch the train in the AM to Haridwar. Ok....done and done. So we caught the train at 1:30am to Amritsar and arrived there at 4am. We had 3 hours to kill until the 7am train to Haridwar and because Yuval and Rachel had already been there, they suggested I take a bicycle rickshaw to the Golden Temple. It was beautiful and it was packed with people doing their morning rituals of taking baths in the holy water, praying, chanting, circumambulating, meditating and staring at the white girl with the headscarf that's trying to fit in! Sleeping at the temple is free and tourists actually get a private room, whereas the Indians just bunk up somewhere on the floor of the public rooms.

So after that little spiritual tangent, we boarded the 7 hour train for Haridwar at 7am. We all managed to score 3 seats each to lie down on and I think I slept and sweated pretty much the whole way.(Oh and for all you devoted blog readers, I think I caught a cold from that horrific day on Triund the other day.....who gets a cold in India in August?!) Rachel, the American girl was fortunate enough to have the front row of seats in the middle of the train that faced the other front row in the middle of the train where 3 middle-aged Indian men were sitting. I couldn't help but giggle to myslef when I glanced over to see them staring at her as she slept with her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. Here in India there is no shame in being caught staring, they watch you with mindless thought much like we watch a sitcom re-run. When we arrived in Haridwar, we managed to quickly jump the next train to Rishikesh for 5rupees each in general class. This obviously led to more staring with added wonder as to why we were sitting in general class. But lo and behold, after 26 hours of travelling, we made it....Yogaville!

So that's your standard travel day in India. Having said that, I suggest that if you have any plans for India you drop them because other than your arrival and departure date, there's not a heck of a lot you can plan, but that's the beauty of it...she has her plans of her own for you ;)

Breathe Easy

So I spent about 3 weeks in MacLeod Ganj, the hilltown that holds the Tibetan Government in Exile and His Holiness the Dalai Lama. The actual town itself only has about 3 main streets that project from the "taxi/bus stand". It's flooded with shops, restaurants and internet cafes, all catering to the prominent tourist population who migrate here to get a little taste of Tibet. Upon my arrival I saw Birkenstocks, 50 litre backpacks and dirty hair everywhere....the utmost in tourist comfort! Not to mention the older Tibetan population wearing traditional dress and the many monks and nuns. MacLeod just radiates a relative peacefulness.

I made my way up to the 10 day meditation retreat at Tushita which is located another 15 minutes walk straight uphill, farther into the mountains. This place was one of the only "destinations" I have on my trip and as it turns out, it is quite a special place as the Dalai Lama himself was housed there when he first fled Tibet in the 60's. The idea here was to get settled in, relax and watch my mind. After 10 days of silence and Buddhist philosophy I really felt at home. It's easy to get sucked into this schedule and not want to emerge. However, I did and was more than overwhelmed by the indignant honking of the Punjabi tourists that like to race their cars through the narrow streets of MacLeod, the vast amount of beggars and gypsies tugging at my shirt and the overall speed of things. But as time does tell, my perceptions all quickly slipped back to normal within a day or two.

I spent the next 10 days seeing and doing all the things there are to do here. One could call it "killing time" (although I think that's the stupidest way to put it) until the Dalai Lama's teachings. I trekked to the waterfall, saw the holy hindu temple, circumabulated the Dalai Lama's temple a few times (with some very old Tibetan women who do it every morning), got a blessing from the 17th Karmapa, spread my rupees among gypsies and disabled beggars daily, went to the Tibetan library, the Norbulinka Institure and I even managed to volunteer my skills to 5 Tibetans for an hour in a conversational English class. I spend most nights going to bed fairly early or sitting in one of the many permanent tents they have set up that provide an amazingly elaborate menu with anything from Indian, Chinese, Israeli and Western food to Chai tea and crappy beer. There is also a wide selection of movies and musical instruments if one cares to partake in a jam session. I actually prefer just to lie on the cushions and read my book. I can see how the people I've met over the past few weeks have really found themselves stuck here, or returning often more than once. It's amazing how content we all are so far away from home. Conversation after conversation has led me to come to this conclusion. The question of "What are you doing?" or "Where are you headed?" is more often than not answered with an "I don't know."

The other day I made an attmept with a Swiss friend of mine to do the day trek up to Triund. We were determined as we had spent 10 days sitting on cushions and then another 10 days doing pretty much nothing and time was running out to get a bit of exercise in. We were completely and totally unprepared. About 2 hours up we got caught in a massive thunderstorm (it's monsoon season over here) and were forced to wait it out at Chai Shop #2 with some friendly New Yorkers, who were, needless to say, more unprepared than the Swiss and Canadian tourist! I've been able to cruise around this country and make an endless number of friends here. I say friends because meeting fellow travellers in India, we're all already completely open and bare, stripped to essentials. Most people are unafraid to reveal some of their deepest, darkest stories to a stranger only moments after conversations begin. It's moments like this where I am really assured that I'm not alone in this big space, where I can really connect with someone, smile and realize that my thoughts, feelings and emotions are just like everyone else's. But it's also the next moment, huddled under my blanket at the tea shop, trying to shelter myself from the relentless rain and trying to warm myself up that I wish I had a familiar arm around me in my time of need. Some of us look at these moments to define us. To say, "I am alone", "I need someone to care for me". Sure, I agree, at times we all do. But having said that there really is something about being absolutely alone in this world, without responsibilities or schedules or deadlines, naked in the rain (so to speak) where one can find the essence of existence. I set out on this trip not exactly sure of what it is I was looking for, and I still feel like that today. But I can also say that whatever it is, I think I've already found it. That being said, one can't sit in the rain forever, one has to have a taste of love and comfort to know that it's lacking, and to find it again. So in that moment, on a Himalaya in India somewhere, I was missing you. You are all my comfort, my refuge, my shleter, my warmth. But like all the rest of it, that terrible storm faded. The clouds parted to give way to the sunshine, the blanket and new wool socks I bought succeeded in warming me up and slowly slowly, the rain faded to a drizzle as our altitude decreased. The conversations that I had with my new friends from New York were quickly forgotten as one day their faces will also be, and the moment where I really wanted someone at my side also became a distant memory as my thoughts proceeded to the chai and hot shower I was going to enjoy very soon. Fleeting thoughts, all of it, like ships in the night.

So I saw him, and I listened to him give his teachings and I even got within a half a meter of him (I was crouched on the ground behind an Indian army member with a big gun). What an amazing person the 14th Dalai Lama is. People come from miles around (or in my case half way around the world) to listen to him and just be in his presence. Two days prior to the teachings, you come into the palace and tape down a cushion or a sheet or even a piece of cardboard to reserve your seat for the duration of the 3 day teachings. I love the Tibetan system....the honour system. The teachings were in Tibetan this time, unfortunately, but there were live translations broadcast over the radio. Just being in the presence of so many monks, nuns, and devotees to his path of love, compassion and wisdom is really a perfect place to be.
At the end of the day, when I snuck near the aisle to watch him pass right infront of me, I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking as he walked past all of us. How focused is he on giving his teachings just days before the Olympics begin? What kind of thoughts pervade his mind on a daily basis? As he finishes his commitment to his people for the day, I can't help but think about all the other "more important" things he has on his mind and that he could be doing in light of all the political issues. Where most of us think, "Whew, glad that's over, what should I have for lunch?" Or "what extravagant gift should I get my friend for their b-day?" Or "Did I lock the back door?" He's probably thinking "What can I do today about the repression of my people?" or "How can I make all the people in this world happy?" Now these are problems worthy of solving. My question is "How do we get everyone to think outside of their own box?"

"Only God know these things"

I'd first like to apologize for the long entry here. Getting onto internet amidst my crazy adventures has been difficult.

Anywhoo.....

I jumped ship in Langkawi, Malaysia after spending about 2 weeks there. As the time was ticking away, Locky's "sailor clock" just wasn't ticking in time with it. I had a great time in Malaysia and took my time getting to Delhi by taking a bus through Malaysia to Kuala Lumpur, spending a night there and then flying to Delhi via Singapore.

I had the feeling that my plans for India were going to be challenged from the get go. It has been said that you will most likely, at some point on your journey, find yourself taking a random bus to some random place that you never planned on heading. The only way to deal with this is to accept the path that you're on and go with it. I had a funny feeling about travelling to India. I think it was the build up of the constant fear I've felt since arriving. This isn't a bad fear. Just a realization of how big and crazy this world is and in a place like India I've discovered that there really is no place like home. Here is where you are, without choice, stripped down to the bare essentials of survival....much like the rest of the people who live in this country. I felt the strength of India's energy the second I touched ground like a massive wave, and each time I step outside I feel it again and again - much like being caught in an undertow. I manage to get breaths in though, and I somehow manage to keep on pladdling.

I arrived in Delhi airport at 6 am and my undercover cab driver, Dinesh, volunteered to take me to the tourist center on the way. The friendly boys there informed me that, thanks to Shiva and her migrating pilgrims, I would not find a cheap place to stay. Classic line right...? So we called a few hostels that I was intending to stay at and the voice on the other end, barely audible and heavily accented told me repeatedly that there was no availability. Option B was to go to Dharamsala (my next destination) 10 days early, but there was no bus for another 4 days and trains were striking. Plan C? I dunno Raj, you tell me. He somehow convinced me to take a plane to Srinagar, Kashmir and stay on a house boat on Dal lake.

So that was that. Money was paid. I was taken to a common house, paid for by the government to house tourists as they pass through Delhi. It was great, had a shower, some food and a little rest before my flight to Kashmir. But at this point anxiety levels started to rise as I did some reading into this place for which I was destined. According to my Let's Go and another girls Lonely Planet guide books (both written between 2-4 years ago) Kashmir was not a place to be headed. The area is about 98% Muslim and there have been many a battles fought between the Indians and the Kashmiri's (who want independence) as well as between the Indians and the Pakistani's to the north. There still is a very strong military presence in this area, experienced first hand by the airport security which was more thorough than even a red alert in Newark! Little did I know that since the publishing of this information a few years ago, things have settled down quite a lot in Kashmir and it has become a destination for trekkers. So I discovered, and was quickly forced to accept that someone else is hacking the brush on my trek through the fields of India.

So as I arrived at the "Wild Rose" I discovered there was no way that a single foreign girl could be walking around by herself. There was also the minor inconveneice of a boat paddler having to come and get me to take me anywhere. I'd been scammed and I was anxious, scared and a little bit pissed. I was determined to make the best of it so I spent a day and a half resting, recovering, reading and meditating on my own private house boat and figuring out a way to get the heck out of here. Eventually Ibrahim, the owner, brought me out of my stubborn reality and I surrendered into complete and total dependence - this is not an easy thing for me as I'm sure you all know. We talked for a while and I expressed my concerns and we came up with a pretty good solution. I would go on a 7 day trek along with an english couple and then he would get me to Dharamsala by jeep by the 14th.

The trek was amazing, and most likely something that could never be experienced anywhere other than a place like Kashmir. We drove by jeep along with our guide, Bashir, and our chef, Afzal Kahn, an hour and a half into the mountains (often stopped along the way by "Black Dogs"/military) where we were met by the 4 horsemen that would be accompanying us. A little preparation and a lot of bag-strapping to horses and we were off. Throughout the 7 days I mellowed out a lot and became fully aware of the fact that I was in the Himalayas and settled in nicely to the earth surrounding me. Often times I would sit and watch the thousands of sheep and cattle dotting the hills, or be accompanied by a meerkat or 2 (one was so curious about me he came within inches of my knee to get a good look). The most amazing part was the shepards and their families that live in these mountains during the summers. I have never in my life seen more beautiful people and I felt an odd sense of insecurity being around them with all my colourful clothes and needless "things". We walked several mountain passes over the 7 days, the highest of which being about 3800m and I was able to take a few polar dips in the 4-5 glacier lakes we came across. Unfortunatley it was only sunny for one of the seven days, but I was really ok with the Vancouver weather after being in sweaty SE Asia for the past 4 months.

So I've just arrived last night in Dharamsala, home of the Dalai Lama and will be going into a 10 day Buddhist studies/retreat this afternoon. So far this Tibetan community is amazing and I feel comfortable here....lots of other whities! I might just stay a while.

It just didn't go as "Fast" as I would've liked

I've just spent the past 2+ weeks in Phuket. The first 10 days were passed in the lovely Boat Lagoon Marina. I mean this sarcastically as this place had what one would call "bad voodoo". Boats go in there and don't come out. One guy bought a boat and was quoted 6 months for completion - he's been here for over a year. Locky sailed the trash-heap that was Caballo into Boat Lagoon in Dec 07 and it has now emerged as the new and much improved Papaya. It's amazing what he's done single-handedly, he should be proud. But as he says, his work on his "house" is never done.

On the first day of our reunion, he showed me to my abode - the Papaya. Locky and his girlfriend, Barbara, were going to finish out their stay in the small hotel room they rented 3 minutes away. After spending way too much money the previous 4 weeks, it was nice to have a place to hang out for free. Things were all good. But after a few days in the lagoon - where there is absolutely no breeze, mosquitos the size of horseflies and the Thai people's method of business, things were starting to become a challenge. Nothing a few fans and some mosquito coils can't handle, but I thought I would try to take the suffering to the next level.

Since I got sick (if you'll recall my first 5 days in Indo) I've been wanting to do a major fast. After a couple days of lounging around with Locky whizzing by me doing boat work that I was clearly (due to lack of knowledge) unable to assist with, I saw the perfect opportunity to start. My plan was to ease into it with 3 days of fruit and water and then continue for another 10 days with nothing but water.

So you all probably think I'm crazy, but I'll shed a little light into my mind for you. I have a few reasons for doing this:

1) For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am taking a break from anything athletic (besides some random partner pepper with the girls on Sunrise Beach, Koh Phanang) and not eating would not pose much of a problem in this regard.

2)Over the past year, I've found a major release from the constraints of my mind and had the ability to shed some emotional baggage and certain ways of being. I want to do the same physically - rid myself of extra, unneeded weight (always a bonus). I like to refer to it as pushing the "restart" button.

3) Is not eating for 10 days really one of the hardest things a person can do? A lot of people say it would be impossible for them. Is this really where we are at in our society? This is the biggest challenge we are faced with as individuals? I beg to differ. I accept the challenge.

4) There are people suffering from hunger all over the world and if anyone is paying attention to the front cover - this epidemic is rising, especially in this (Asian) part of the world. With 130,000 people killed last month by the cyclone in Burma, that number is expected to double in the span of a month if the junta don't get their heads out of their asses. Not to mention all the other signs of world hunger that have plagued Africa and other parts of the world for decades. I want to take the opportunity to stop and re-evaluate how I view one of life's luxuries - cause the more I look around the more I begin to notice how eating everyday has become just that. How easy have things become and how much am I taking it all for granted when I actually frown on white rice?!!(Now please everybody, I don't write this to make you feel guilty about your health food stores or Naam restaurant purchases, these are just the thoughts that have been running through my head. I'm sure after a few months back in civilization I'll be once again rolling my eyes at the sandwich artist when he tells me "sorry ma'am, no more whole wheat")

ANYWAYS.... as I settled into my fast it was clear on the morning of Day 2(water only) that I would probably pass out or die so I took refuge in the coconut. You don't want to get me started on the coconut but it really is God's greatest creation for man. (Please email me if you care to delve into the subject!!) So with a coconut a day, it looked like I might actually go....all....the.....way!....and I did.

But here is something else I learned. I really put myself into a position - literally. On the boat, which when the tide was out in the lagoon was actually sitting on the mud, I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Things might've been easier for me if I had various forms of entertainment to distract me. Reading The Omnivore's Dilemma cover to cover over the past week was also twisting the knife (really good book by the way). I really retreated into myself, I didn't have much energy to walk to the store, I wasn't much fun for my friends (who are happy to have me back now) and not to mention a serious boat potato. At night when I lay on the deck I was able to experience the true essence of life: really "being" in my situation (besides my book and the odd text message - thx Bibs). I was forcing myself to accept the moment, lacking all the distractions that I'm used to in my familiar "western" world, stripping life down to its bare "being". The question is: "Can I be happy here?" and the answer, I've discovered, other than hunger pangs is: "Yes!" And if that's the case, everything else should be a piece of cake from here on in....Ha! Ya right, Iz. Well for a little while I'm sure it will be, as I take everything else (movies, parties, exercise regimes, jobs, family dinners, sex, washing the dishes, driving my car/scooter etc...) as a bonus - especially eating!

I feel pretty good. I might just do this once a year.

Thailand!!!.....Did I mention how much I miss Indo?

After all the bad Indo jokes, I guess you just don't know what you've got 'til it's gone! From the moment I set foot in Thailand (literally, at the airport), I've been treated like nothing more than a wallet-wielding piece of meat.

I reunited with the team (Barb, Sax and Dani) on Khaosan road in Bangkok. This place is pretty much your number one destination of you want to see all the craziest people in the world gathered in one area. It was exciting for a couple nights and a backpacker can literally find anything they could ever want or need here.

We spent 4 nights here, basically only to indulge in 2 highlights:

1) Reuniting with my very oldest friend in the world Trevor (who mentioned that only his mother still calls him that) Dalley from Whistler. This guy was my neighbour at the age of 5 and I pretty much hadn't seen him in about 12 years (Thank you, Facebook). Funny how people change, but really do stay the same!!

2) Meeting up with Jo who came to meet us after spending a week with the National Champion UBC TBirds in China. She took the backpackers plunge into the southeastern islands of Koh Samui and Phanang all by her lonesome before meeting us on her way back to the comforts of Kits Beach. We're proud of ya Jo...wasn't so bad now, was it?!

After getting out of Bangkok, we hopped a night train, bus and boat straight to our bungalow, beach, bikini and beer on Koh Samui. We only spent a night here as we were in a hurry to get to Koh Phanang for the infamous Full Moon Party. To say the least, it was well worth the trip. We had a reunion with all the crazy people's brothers, sisters and cousins from Bangkok. Everyone was either extremely intoxicated from the $10 buckets of alcohol or flying around from the dosage of a little blue pill. The party lasted a couple days with after parties around the island. But, being the responsible girls we are, we went home when the sun came up.

Since then we've been hanging out in hammocks and cruising the islands with scooters, trying our best to end the day without the markings of a foreign moto-renter, but to no avail. Riding in the mountainous terrain of Koh Tao, where really only ATV's can negotiate the hills, we've been left with some nice muffler tattoos. I'm sure Sax will show you hers if you ask her nicely ;)

Koh Tao, just north of Phanang is definitely worth the trip. A little out of the way, this island is made for scuba enthusiasts, but we managed to find a nice little yoga retreat with an added "treat". Kester was his name, dredlocks, a Scottish accent and Kundalini was his game.....

So as the girls start to take different forks on our road, I just keep on trekking. Pressed up against other smelly travellers on the big slumber party that is the night boat, I'm heading to Phuket to meet up with Locky. Sailor extraordinaire from what I've heard, he's got a brand new Papaya that he plans to sail around the Indian Ocean for the next 6 months. Last time we saw eachother, his VW van blew up on Robson st. on a very crowded Friday night. I can't wait to see what's in store for us this time around!!!

Cutting the Chord, falling into Kuta

So as a little bonus for winning the Championship, Bank Jatim took us all to Bali for a night. This worked out well as BNI Jakarta's men's and women's team would also be there, this included Barb, Jake and Saxony. Although we were all itching to be released by our Indonesian companions, it was very nice having free hotel rooms for a few days prior to getting tossed out into the real world on our own.

It was sad leaving my teammates and management. After all these years of crossing paths with people, I never will get used to looking someone in the eye and saying goodbye knowing that I'll probably never see them again. But so it goes...passing ships in the night.

After having spent 4 days in Kuta Beach, Bali, which is infested with drunk, obnoxious, pink sun-stained foreigners we wanted to get out as fast as possible. Let me also mention that someone stole yet another cel phone out of my pocket as we were leaving the infamous Paddy's Night Club. At this point I don't even try to put up a fight this many phones into my mobile career. I've just accepted it. I think I'm now at cel phone number 9 or 10!

Our next destination was the NW coast of neighbouring Lombok Island to the Island of Gili Tra La La (Trawangan). This place was a bit remote to say the least (we took a plane, a car, and a boat to get there), but upon arrival we quickly found cheap accomodation ($5/nt) and pony-drawn carriages. These are made, FYI, for 2 small people as these ponies aren't in the greatest of condition (neither was our one-eyed driver) not for 24feet of volleygirl! Within 20 minutes of arriving we found ourselves settled into a beach front tiki-hut with a guitar and 4 large Bintangs and our minds wandering no further than tomorrow. I had at last found paradise.

We spent 3 days on Gili Tra lala and then continued on to Ubud, Bali, infamous now for its portrayal in Eat, Pray, Love. We thought we'd pass on the air travel as it would be nice to take a boat there from Gili. Well we left at 8am and after a couple boat rides (one of which was 5 hours) and several minivans (aka. buses) we arrived in Ubud at 6pm! This little town is also much worth the trip. The shopping is extraordinary and the people very hospitable to its foreigners. We spent 2 nights in Ubud eating great food and recharging our batteries for our trip to Thailand.

The girls left a day before I did, so I was forced to spend a night back near Kuta. This time I chose to stay a little further north in Legian Beach where things are a bit quieter. I spent most of the day logging some good sun time and then enjoyed my last Indonesian meal as I fired off some badly written postcards. On our first trip to Kuta, I had met a local fellow who was a surf instructor named "Bobby". He was 54 years of age and had long sun-bleached hair. We had chatted for a while and he had insisted that I come back the next day. Well I didn't come the next day, but I did find my way back to him about 8 days later. He was glad that I returned, but also wasn't afraid to voice his disappointment that I hadn't come back when I said I would. I told him I never make promises I can't keep!

He invited me to his place to have a couple drinks and play some music. I know to most of you this would sound like a crazy thing to consider, but we had chatted for a total of about 3 hours and (other than the fact that I outweigh him by about 25lbs) I felt that I was a pretty good judge of character and decided to go with it.

We walked for a while, greeted by every second person that we passed, stopped to buy beer (which I, of course, gladly paid for), spiraled through some alleys and up the backstairs of a building until I found myself on a very modest rooftop garden beside which was his room. It literally was a room, with a single mattress on the floor, a closet, a window and an Indo toilet. There was no door, only curtains. On the wall he had some of his own paintings which were very well done. He told me he paid 400,000rph/mo. That's about $45CAN.

This was it. This is how this guy lived. He wakes up in the morning, heads to the beach around 7, hangs out there all day "working" (chatting people up, looking to give private tours to people or snagging them for a surf lesson....basically anything he could offer and make comission from). In the evenings he comes home relaxes for a bit (this may include smoking a "Bob Marley cigarette" for inspiration and painting) and then goes out again to hang out with his friends.

His real name was BamBang and he was a good soul. We played guitar and sang songs all night together. I was really glad I went back to find him. Maybe I'll find him again someday at his post on the beach. I hope he will remember me.

Champions 2008

We did it. Surabaya Bank Jatim won the Proliga for the second year in a row. We played flawless volleyball and crushed Elektrik in 3 straight sets. I think they were a little nervous coming out of the gates (first set score was 25-9) and I don't think they ever really recovered. To top it all off members on our team were recognized for Best Setter, Best Attacker, Best Libero and MVP. ( Just to comment on the 2nd photo above, if I may: take note of A)falling balloons, B)fireworks, C)Izzy holding trophy and D) random Indonesian man wanting a photo with me......)

So as I experience the anti-climactic end to another season of professional volleyball, it's not the game that will stick out in my mind, but the people that I met and the moments I shared. The girls as well as the coaching staff and management have been endlessly giving and supportive. I've been treated really well and I have nothing but good things to say about this club.

Once again I find myself saying goodbye to great people and friends while at the same time wondering if I will ever see them again on this massive planet. The really great thing about it is that I won't know but I do take a little piece of each of them with me. They ask me if I will remember them and I have to say that it's going to be really hard to forget.

I'm going to end this little series of blogs for a while as I spend some free time travelling around Asia for the next few months. I will try and write some blogs along the way, so keep checking in every once in a while.

Thanks for reading........

Eye on the Prize....

Wow....sorry guys. Technical difficulties in Izzy-Indo land, but I'm back.

So this past weekend, we were in Bandung, a city about 2 hours by car from Jakarta....well, that's what they say. What I've discovered is that there really isn't the greatest concept of time over here. If someone tells you they'll be there at 7:30 I wouldn't expect them before 8. And if they're going to be late, don't expect a phone call. Although when it really comes down to it and the meeting is crucial (ie. leaving for the airport, meeting for a match) they'll be calling you 10 minutes before the scheduled time wondering where in Allah's name you are! Estimating the distance of a car/taxi ride is much like bartering with a knock-off salesperson in China.....you can divide by 7 to get a more precise travel time!

Anyways, as I was saying...Bandung hosted the Final 4 tournament. This is a 3day-3match round robin with the top 4 teams in the league. All 4 teams play on the final weekend in Jakarta, but whether it's for 1st place or 3rd place depends on the results from final four. Our team played exceptionally well, beating Jakarta BNI in 3 straight sets on Friday and beating Gresik Petrokimia in 3 straight sets on Saturday. This automatically put us in the final the following weekend, but we first had to play a grudge match with Jakarta Elektrik PLN to see who would get the no.1 ranking. In regular season, they beat us 0-3 and we beat them 3-2, but with a loss to BNI early in the season, PLN lost one more match than we did and we finished first in the league. These guys were pissed after last weekend's loss and were swearing redemption....as was their crowd of red-shirted balloon knockers!! It was a slow start for us as we entered the game tight and nervous. Once we lost the first 2 sets, and realized that this game actually didn't mean much, we relaxed into our groove and managed to squeek out a 23-21 victory in a 5 set nail-biter.

Good thing? Bad thing? I dunno.....coaches can analyze it over and over....going in as the underdog, going in as the favourite, it all really doesn't matter. Although we make these circumstances into front page stories and let them play a role in motivation, it all just comes down to the day. One team may practice 2 times a day for the entire week, the other team may take 4 days off....one team may work out some last minute tactical changes (not likely as we're in Indo) the other might work on reinforcing their block (also not likely as, well, we're in Indo)....but any way you cut it, there is no way of knowing what is the right way, what is the winningest way, which road the high road.... what caused the last ball to bounce on this or that side of the court........

....I leave that philosophy up to you.

I have been relocated and little did I know that when I left Surabaya, my home for the past 2 months, it was for the last time (sniff). Since I left and went to Singapore to renew my visa I haven't been back there. We've been living in Bandung for the past couple weeks at the lovely Naripan hotel, which is conveniently located across the street from Bank Jabar. This bank used to have a team as well and Mr. Huang used to be the coach here. Well lucky for us, depending on how you look at it, it has it's own gym as well as fitness centre. We wake up, walk across the street and train 2x a day, eat 3 times a day and sleep about 5 times a day.....it really is Indonesian volley heaven! Unfortunately it took me until today to discover that, while my room couldn't get a wireless internet connection, the rooms across the hall all could.....good times.

So as I count the last few days away before I head off to Bali, I find myself being ever more present to the small moments, as I realize that yet another chapter has gone by.....all in all it's pretty amazing that I'm playing professional volleyball in Indonesia. I mean how many people in the world actually get to experience that!

My life is great!

"Easy" Going

Our assistant coach's wife is an English teacher at a local school here in Surabaya. A while back, she asked me to come and speak with the students and to let them experience a “native english speaker” ....the first ever at the school! I didn’t hesitate. Being a native speaker was my part-time job title when I was playing in Austria 4 years ago. Speaking infront of a class of students isn’t so hard, especially when you're not their teacher, they're extra excited.

I was told that I needed to wear my jersey, shoes and long pants. 80% of this country is Muslim, with the other 20% being Catholics...... my usual uniform of short tights and flip-flops just wouldn’t be acceptable. Wearing my uniform proved to come in handy for the introductions as I told the students my name was “Izzy”, while pointing to the name on my back, not “easy”. For those of you who don’t know, for every language other than English, “I” is pronounced “E”. After all my travels through Europe and Asia, I don’t flinch at this anymore. Every class I walked into, this was a good ice-breaker and got a good laugh.

This school was a junior high, grades 8-10 with 1000 kids. Each class has about 40 students. The kids go to school 6 days a week for 12 months of the year. They get one week of vacation twice a year.


As for the past weekend, we won another match in straight sets over Jakarta Popsivo. With the last weekend of regular season games next weekend in Jakarta and having officially clinched a playoff spot, we have 3 more weekends of volleyball left. I had a meeting with one of the team's "Big Bosses" yesterday asking me to please stay close to the team. For example, I should attend all team meals and avoid staying after matches to watch other teams play. At this stage in the season the foreigners are "high profile" and people will do anything to try and distract our team from winning. These things might include poisoning our food, putting "hexes" on us, calling us at all hours of the night and even sending the police our way to hassle us about our visas. My manager termed this "terrorism". I'm still not convinced that it's as bad as it sounds, but things are definitely heating up as teams are scrambling to bring in more and more foreigners to give their teams the edge.

So I'm off to Singapore tomorrow to renew my visa again and it'll be followed by another 10 days in Jakarta. I haven't been able to spend any time in Jakarta yet, so I'm looking forward to some time away from "Home".

Just when you thought it was safe to eat salad!!

We played Bogor Prayoga over the weekend. These guys are playing for the wooden spoon (aka. last place) and they did bring in a couple US troops to reinforce their attack, but to no avail. We handled them quite easily in 3 sets. I'm settling nicely into my new role as a "practice player". Who would've thought that my original self-coined identity as a UBC Thunderbird in my rookie year would actually still be with me 10 years later. The management has also decided to extend my contract to stay here for the 2 extra weeks of playoffs. It means that my Bali vacation will have to wait just a little longer, but it also means I get paid to hang around. I'll just keep doing what I do best: serving, shagging (that means collecting balls for those of you that don't know), cursing in Indonesian for the sole purpose of humouring my teammates, lying by the pool while the team is having pre-game naps, and posing for endless pictures with Indonesian fans.....It ain't so bad.

Over the past 7 weeks in Indonesia, each and every foreigner has gotten some sort of food poisoning. It's the creeping kind. Just when you thought you were home free walking out of that Indonesian restaurant, that sneaky little parasite is already multiplying in your duodenum. You get home, lay down in bed and notice that you are burping up what seems like calamari. But wait.....you didn't eat any?! You spend the night tossing and turning, alternating the AC on and off. You wake up in the morning in a puddle of sweat and motivate yourself to get up for 8am practice. I mean what else are you gonna do to get your mind off it? But before your feet hit the cold tile, your butt is telling you to get to that toilet. And so it begins....the only thing you can do it let nature run its course and hope it passes quickly. Quickly being about 2 days. Still trying to figure it out, but it could come from the water, could be the seafood or the non-existent food-safety standards. It took me about 22 years to get up enough courage to eat seafood and a swift 5 days in Indonesia to revert me right back. I find it funny that I knew more about foreigners' bowel movements here before I knew what country they were from or what team they played on. But hey, at least these new relationships are based on openness!

In regards to the photos above: This is what I think is the best thing in Indonesia...ever! For those of you that don't know, I would marry any man who likes to massage my feet....what can I say? It's my weakness! (Not to mention the fact that we practice on what is basically plywood-covered cement. A far cry from the bouncy gym floors we are used to back home. How I am still walking around is a mystery to me) Well, I've fallen in love with at least 5 or 6 Indonesian men at this point, so I'm going to have to raise the bar here. REFLEXI is the name and an hour and a half foot and calf massage is the game. And get this....it only costs 40,000rph ($5CAN). It's almost like stealing. My poor guy was working so hard he was sweating through his tight white pants. All in a day's work, I guess!

Let's Focus on the Positive, shall we?

So last night I saw something that one would normally only see at a rowdy soccer match. During the men's match, prior to ours, there was a controversial call by the linesman that lead to him being hit with a water bottle from the stands. This lead to the tossing of at least 4 more water bottles, fans on their feet yelling profanities and a good 10 minute delay in the match. Although this happened a couple weeks ago in another men's match, the Pro Liga committee had taken precautions to try and prevent this in the future. They were selling water in plastic bags(!!) as well as having stern meetings with the captains and teams to ask them not to question calls made by the officials. Well the 'bag-o-water' only lasted one weekend after that and, well it's difficult to keep cool with some of the reffing around here. There was a moment last night where I was a little scared for my life as the fans got rowdy, but then I remembered (see Feb19 blog): "Never be scared and love your life". These Indonesians sure are loud and rowdy, but they're just big softies deep down and really wouldn't get vicious. So yeah, that was exciting!!

Our game, wish it could compare, was an anticlimactic 4 set win. Our team is playing well and with the debut of "Team China" we are only that much stronger. The thing I've noticed about the teams here is that every one has their foreigner(s) but in matches, they really just cancel eachother out. This leads to the old adage: May the best team win. Imagine that! Volleyball is different over here. The only thing that is emphasized is hitting, and the more straight down, the better! Ask any foreigner how their body is holding up and they'll definitely whine about their shoulder. All we ever do, and this goes for every team, men and women, is HIT HIT HIT, and this against no block. I do have to hand it to my coach though, he is starting to incorporate more and more team-play into practices and I think this is the real reason our team is winning. As I spent the last week training on the B side, hitting against our starters, I've taken a new challenge on; and that is to not get frustrated at the defense (or complete lack-there-of) on my side of the court and actually try and teach them a thing or two about how rallies are extended in the rest of the world. I put myself in a position where the ball is most likely going to hit me if I don't dig it, they prefer to stand about a meter behind that spot, and flamboyantly flail as the ball hits the ground in front of them so as to give off the illusion that that ball was just hit too hard to dig! Frustration has led to finding humour in all this, believe me.

I also took it upon myself to take some stats on the teams that we will most likely meet in playoffs. I think I blew them away as our stats have so far been limited to those seen in the above photo (columns for missed serves, receptions, blocks, attacks and defence)!! I'm trying really hard right now not to make further comments on that!

Don't get me wrong, I am having a blast. Just trying to figure out if being on the bench of a winning team is better than being the only fish on a losing team. But as I think about it and my brain starts to hurt, my thoughts are interrupted by.......BALI, BALI, BALI!

It is what it is.....

"And in the Green corner......."

It’s been a while since I last wrote and I apologize to all you loyal readers out there, whomever you might be. I was quite emotional this past week and so I chose not to write. I find that I sometimes say things that are very impulsive only to later reread them and shake my head at being so melodramatic. But I will say that there were a couple of things on my mind during the Easter weekend; one is that on Saturday my dad would’ve celebrated his 64th birthday and the other is that two of my closest friends in the world exchanged vows in Maui and I would’ve given the world to be there. But I’m here and I’ve chosen it to be this way, so on she rolls......

I try not to pay too much attention to horoscopes, but they do say that Aquarians should surround themselves with people/friends and action when feeling despondent and not to retreat even though we might naturally feel inclined to do so. I do have to say this has been difficult for me due to my daily schedule. Let me map it out sequentially for ya: sleep, eat, train(practice or weights depending on the day), eat, surf the web, sitting meditation, read, nap, snack time, practice, eat, watch some Asian news, the occasional movie, maybe another round of meditation, read and then sleep. Repeat.
Needless to say I lost a little perspective!

Lucky for me my 30 day visa was up last week and I was able to break out of the routine with a short trip to Singapore to renew it. I showed up in the late evening on St. Patty’s day at Muddy Murphy’s to find my fellow Canadian volleyball friends who were well into the frothy broth. Bingo, back to reality! Singapore is very refreshing after a month in Indonesia. It’s almost like coming home to do your laundry as well as enjoying a few greasy North American meals before heading back to the battlefield. I hope I don’t make it sound too bad, but there comes a point while living in a developing country when one can start to go a little nutty!


We did win our last match of the first half of the season and are sitting 2nd in the league. I guess second isn’t good enough. We brought in Chinese reinforcements and now have three foreigners on the team. One is a middle blocker who happens to also be an ex-Chinese national team member and the other is another outside hitter, originally brought in as an alternative to our other outside hitter. Unfortunately the rules here in Indo allow teams to only dress two foreigners per match. I guess we’ll see how things go, but as far as I can see these gals are hot as s**t and they also have the advantage of being able to actually communicate with the coach. That’s big! A wise, but little, Indonesian man once said to me: “Just try your best. That’s all we expect of you.” Yes, my friend, I will.

The biggest thing for Indonesian volleyball also just took place over the weekend.....a little event known as the All-Star game. Basically there is a committee that selects 24 men and women from East and West Java and there is a huge flashy match somewhere in the middle. Here are a few highlights:

1)having not only a roommate, but it being the one and only other white girl selected to the All-star team.....Dani Mancuso, you are now my new BFF,
2)marching out onto the courts wearing what I would best describe as silk boxing robes (we kinda looked KKK, but whatever, the crowd loved it) and tossing them off as we were individually introduced to the crowd,
3)winning 20 million rupiah ($2200CAN) as Team Dynamic defeated Team Spirit,
4)watching Jake Cabbott get attacked by a group of Indonesian men as they all battled for his sweaty uniform after he won his match (his one-armed over-head dig was pretty sweet after all),
5)being treated like a celebrity with Dani as the only white girls at the entire show (did I mention that yet?) posing for endless pictures and shaking countless hands,
6)the hotel’s “Music Room” and DJ Tarheety (Liquid), yeah!
7)going for a 3am swim in the hotel pool just before the 4am breakfast.

So here I am, about to hit the halfway point of the Proliga here in Indo. The thing that you have to understand is that you never really know what is going on. Apparently we are going on a team roadtrip this afternoon to Malang, which is about an hour away, for a little r&r. The hotel does of course have a fitness centre and seeing as people around here don't like to sleep in we will be hitting it first thing tomorrow morning. But two days off practice sounds pretty good to me right about now.

Only in Indo

We beat Bogor Prayoga 3-1 in what was a very ugly match and after an altogether ‘gong show’ weekend. I guess I’m just not used to the way things are done around here, but let me take a few minutes to paint you the picture.

After our loss on Friday we woke up early on Saturday and had a team weight session in the hotel fitness centre. We then proceeded to have a 2 hour meeting about the previous night’s match. You can imagine how spell-binding this is in a hotel room with a Chinese-speaking coach and 12 other Indo speaking team members where the lines of communication are definitely not english. Although our translator tells me the gist of the meeting after it’s over, the content that was covered in 2 hours was condensed into a 2 minute English re-cap. Good times.

Thinking that we would have the afternoon off, I scheduled a long overdue massage to get my legs rubbed out. But as it turned out, the team management thought it would be a good idea, due to the loss, to have the year’s hardest practice on Saturday night in some random gym with cement floors on, what I think was an army base.

Coach Huang then decided that we would get up at 6:30 the following day/Sunday/game day and practice again. At this point, I just had to laugh and shake my head. Chayo! (that’s Chinese for digging deep, sucking it up, giving it your all) When it hurts....Chayo!

So this brings me to game day (or what’s left of it after my 2.5 hour afternoon nap) and we arrive at the gym to begin our warm-up at 3, as the game is scheduled to start at 4. It’s the rain season here (In Indonesia there are only 2 seasons: rain and no rain, aka hot and hotter) and every afternoon there comes a downpour. Thank Allah, as it gets to be pretty humid every day before the skies open up. Anyways, at about 2:45 it begins to rain....hard. Lo and behold our match has now been delayed. The roof in the gym in which we are playing begins to leak in several areas on the court. Oh yes, a rain delay. They don’t even have those in beach volleyball!

At this point I am just trying to tell deal with all the psycologically distracting factors as, well into the 2nd set of the match, there are about 8 towel boys and girls running out onto the court and wiping up the puddles between points. You can imagine that, well, Izzy isn’t having the greatest match of her life at this point and the fans just love to heckle me as it is. The crowd goes wild when I get subbed out of the match, they boo and whistle when I come back in (must be the hair). So there comes a point in the match, we are up 1 set, but down in the second and I get set a ball from the back corner of the court, I approach hard, slip on a puddle and go down hard, unable to save the ball and we lose the point. Well, you can imagine how the crowd went wild then!

So everything worked out fine in the end. My ego has taken a bit of a hit and I’m currently working on letting that go, but the double-yew is what counts. It’s days like these that make everything else in life seem easy. Things don’t happen the way they should, they happen the way they do and it’s how we choose to react that really makes us who we are.