htu

Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts

First, we read this book, “Holy Cow” by Sarah MacDonald, and then we visited and saw holy shit.

Welcome to India.—  Read the sign as we crossed the border from Nepal on a bicycle rickshaw. This is where we still had the chance to turn around and run, curiously we continued.


The smell filled our nostrils the minute we entered India. —What is that smell?— I almost puked. The smell nearly knocked us out unlike any other smell before. Decay and rotten garbage instantly put disgust on the face.

Presenting our passports to Indian “officials” was more primitive then any other checkpoint we have crossed yet, it took 5 officials who were occupied with cracking and eating peanuts, to give us a stamp, I don’t even think one of them looked at our visa.

Beeping cars, loud rickshaws, ringing bicycles, screaming people, slow cows, dying dogs, and ranging monkeys were all rolling and stepping in and over holy shit.

Completely disoriented we hopped on a local bus and continued our long journey to Varanasi. The bus was full of man staring at the two white toddies that just have been traveling for 10 hours from Pokhara in sweat, tired and in disbelief.

After 24 hours of traveling in the bus, on the bicycle rickshaw, and in the train we arrived to one of the most holly cities in India, Varanasi. It’s a city where the elderly come and await their turn to be burned and thrown into the holy river, Ganga. It’s a city where crowds of Hindus gather by Ghats and bath in Ganga for spiritual ceremonies.

We arrived in the morning, early morning 5am morning, and it took us 3 hours to find the guesthouse we were looking for. It took one taxi driver to continuously doge our request and brining us to different hotels and guesthouse so he can make commission. It took 5 people to point us to different direction and it took one homeless guy who walked with us to show us the way. Walking over 3 km with our backpacks, through chaotic streets of Varanasi, with the sun becoming strong we were done before we began.

Annoyed at the chaos we stayed in the guesthouse for few hours and reflected on what we just experienced. Bellies growling we ventured out into small alleys in the old town of Varanasi. The smell kept hiding us hard, cows were blocking our ways, and we kept turning and loosing our sense of direction. Garbage, millions of insects, cow shit, begging and praying people, running kids, dead people, motorbikes and dust were all on a move in the tightest alleys. Chai (tea) was served in every shop and curd (yogurt) was being made in quantities while the burning human smoke from the Ghats filled the hazy atmosphere.

Nothing, absolutely nothing can prepare you and make you strong enough for India. It was a culture shock. A shit shock we have not been ready for and a shock that left us with a distaste to explore more.

However, the toddies are strong, and we didn’t wanted to give up so easy, three days later and we hopped on a train going to Agra to see the magical Taj Mahal.

The train is the most convenient and cheapest way to travel in India, but tickets are almost impossible to get the day of traveling. In short notice we got lucky and got the regular sleeper class without Air Con. Again shocked at the condition of the sleeper class, over crowded, dirty, smelly and hot. We locked our backpacks to the seats and held our important documents close by.

A group of police man approached us and gave us and other foreigners a letter to read, which said not to accept anything from anybody, no cookies, no chai nothing. It’s common for the locals to drug people and steal all their belongings. In no time, one of the tourists seating next to us was offered a Chai from a local guy. — The train felt sketchy.

All night my eyes were closed yet the mind was opened, I was in and out of sleep, stuck to the plastic bed while vendors were screaming — Chai, chai water, somosas, chai!. At one point during the night the guy across from me was masturbating and staring at Iza, and I.  I felt offended.

Arriving into Agra, with the sun rising behind giving an amazing view of Taj Mahal’s silhouette, a handful of people were squatting in the bushes. —What are these people doing?— Iza kept pointing to random people squatting in the bushes staring at the passing train. — They are taking a shit!— I laughed. But I was right; they were really taking a dump. I wonder if each and one of them use the same spot every time.

Speaking of which, we quickly found a moldy no window guesthouse, as our budget is getting low, and Iza locked her self in the bathroom. Aha, yep, “Delhi Belly” they call it, I think. This one was a serious pain belly, that postponed our Taj Mahal touring for the next day. Staying close to the toilet, I also started feeling the bug. Towards the afternoon, we both were screaming in the bathroom with agony, pain and hate for India. Next day’s touring got postponed to the following day as I was in full body pain and unable to keep anything in my system.

Few days passed and we saw the magic of Taj Mahal. In few words, despite the crowds It is all that! We went to see it at sunrise where crowds were at its minimum, it took our breath away, and any previous agony, pain and distaste disappeared in seconds. It’s one of those “you got to be there to feel it and believe it” things. Don’t miss this one if you are around. It touched us deep.

Shortly leaving Taj Mahal, shit hit the fan again and we were back in the chaos.
With no train tickets available, we were forced to take a local bus to Rishikes. An over night bus, after 10 hours of intense shakes, seriously foul smells and dusty inhales we finally made it to Rishikes, the yoga center of the world. 

Tired, exhausted and in pain we found a guesthouse in Ram Juhla, and once again Iza locked her self in the bathroom.

Holy cow India.




















First impression of India, Holy Cow Wow.


First, we read this book, “Holy Cow” by Sarah MacDonald, and then we visited and saw holy shit.

Welcome to India.—  Read the sign as we crossed the border from Nepal on a bicycle rickshaw. This is where we still had the chance to turn around and run, curiously we continued.


The smell filled our nostrils the minute we entered India. —What is that smell?— I almost puked. The smell nearly knocked us out unlike any other smell before. Decay and rotten garbage instantly put disgust on the face.

Presenting our passports to Indian “officials” was more primitive then any other checkpoint we have crossed yet, it took 5 officials who were occupied with cracking and eating peanuts, to give us a stamp, I don’t even think one of them looked at our visa.

Beeping cars, loud rickshaws, ringing bicycles, screaming people, slow cows, dying dogs, and ranging monkeys were all rolling and stepping in and over holy shit.

Completely disoriented we hopped on a local bus and continued our long journey to Varanasi. The bus was full of man staring at the two white toddies that just have been traveling for 10 hours from Pokhara in sweat, tired and in disbelief.

After 24 hours of traveling in the bus, on the bicycle rickshaw, and in the train we arrived to one of the most holly cities in India, Varanasi. It’s a city where the elderly come and await their turn to be burned and thrown into the holy river, Ganga. It’s a city where crowds of Hindus gather by Ghats and bath in Ganga for spiritual ceremonies.

We arrived in the morning, early morning 5am morning, and it took us 3 hours to find the guesthouse we were looking for. It took one taxi driver to continuously doge our request and brining us to different hotels and guesthouse so he can make commission. It took 5 people to point us to different direction and it took one homeless guy who walked with us to show us the way. Walking over 3 km with our backpacks, through chaotic streets of Varanasi, with the sun becoming strong we were done before we began.

Annoyed at the chaos we stayed in the guesthouse for few hours and reflected on what we just experienced. Bellies growling we ventured out into small alleys in the old town of Varanasi. The smell kept hiding us hard, cows were blocking our ways, and we kept turning and loosing our sense of direction. Garbage, millions of insects, cow shit, begging and praying people, running kids, dead people, motorbikes and dust were all on a move in the tightest alleys. Chai (tea) was served in every shop and curd (yogurt) was being made in quantities while the burning human smoke from the Ghats filled the hazy atmosphere.

Nothing, absolutely nothing can prepare you and make you strong enough for India. It was a culture shock. A shit shock we have not been ready for and a shock that left us with a distaste to explore more.

However, the toddies are strong, and we didn’t wanted to give up so easy, three days later and we hopped on a train going to Agra to see the magical Taj Mahal.

The train is the most convenient and cheapest way to travel in India, but tickets are almost impossible to get the day of traveling. In short notice we got lucky and got the regular sleeper class without Air Con. Again shocked at the condition of the sleeper class, over crowded, dirty, smelly and hot. We locked our backpacks to the seats and held our important documents close by.

A group of police man approached us and gave us and other foreigners a letter to read, which said not to accept anything from anybody, no cookies, no chai nothing. It’s common for the locals to drug people and steal all their belongings. In no time, one of the tourists seating next to us was offered a Chai from a local guy. — The train felt sketchy.

All night my eyes were closed yet the mind was opened, I was in and out of sleep, stuck to the plastic bed while vendors were screaming — Chai, chai water, somosas, chai!. At one point during the night the guy across from me was masturbating and staring at Iza, and I.  I felt offended.

Arriving into Agra, with the sun rising behind giving an amazing view of Taj Mahal’s silhouette, a handful of people were squatting in the bushes. —What are these people doing?— Iza kept pointing to random people squatting in the bushes staring at the passing train. — They are taking a shit!— I laughed. But I was right; they were really taking a dump. I wonder if each and one of them use the same spot every time.

Speaking of which, we quickly found a moldy no window guesthouse, as our budget is getting low, and Iza locked her self in the bathroom. Aha, yep, “Delhi Belly” they call it, I think. This one was a serious pain belly, that postponed our Taj Mahal touring for the next day. Staying close to the toilet, I also started feeling the bug. Towards the afternoon, we both were screaming in the bathroom with agony, pain and hate for India. Next day’s touring got postponed to the following day as I was in full body pain and unable to keep anything in my system.

Few days passed and we saw the magic of Taj Mahal. In few words, despite the crowds It is all that! We went to see it at sunrise where crowds were at its minimum, it took our breath away, and any previous agony, pain and distaste disappeared in seconds. It’s one of those “you got to be there to feel it and believe it” things. Don’t miss this one if you are around. It touched us deep.

Shortly leaving Taj Mahal, shit hit the fan again and we were back in the chaos.
With no train tickets available, we were forced to take a local bus to Rishikes. An over night bus, after 10 hours of intense shakes, seriously foul smells and dusty inhales we finally made it to Rishikes, the yoga center of the world. 

Tired, exhausted and in pain we found a guesthouse in Ram Juhla, and once again Iza locked her self in the bathroom.

Holy cow India.




















Before we go ahead with the rest of the posts and our travel stories, we want to reflect and share coolness that’s part of our journey. It’s about a place, a place in Varkala, a place where we felt home, a place where we lived for a month, ate curries with hands and made love.

Welcome to the house of Jewels Sky, a jewelry design business run by few guys from Jaipur. A house where five guys live on the grounds of a giant home and walk a short distance to workshop. We requested to CouchSurf for four days and end up staying for one month.

Their names are Wahid, Ilu, Shanu, Krishna and Dean the Australian character who was temporarily using the workshop to design his limited stone. A stone formed from a meteor that fell on the Czech grounds years ago and he digs deep for it.

Varkala is in Kerala, South of India, it has one of the best beaches in my opinion, is the quiet side to Goa. The 10-meter cliff marks the iconic beach and makes a perfect picture. The westerners are gathered in one area while the Indian beach is just few meters insight. What is an Indian beach? It’s a beach where all the Indians should be. Segregation, I know, what why? But it’s for a reason, lifeguards whistle for all the Indians off the beach as they walk and snap photos of the western chics. Get the F%@k off the beach... Sounds mean, but it really makes sense. I am sleeping off a hangover and a snap of my white body was taken and probably placed on Facebook for good luck.

Varkala, is just one of those places, where miracle happen. A romance with amazing endings, feeling high we shined.

—We are rock and rolling— he said, buzzed on the finally. Whaaaa!!! Amazing. Our bodies are perfect for each other.

—You are sexy.

Am I? I feel sexy and you make me sexy. It takes two to tangle and release.

Early morning 12pm, 10 minute walk on the road, 5 minute walk on the path, 2 minute walk on the sand and 20 minute swimming in the Arabic Sea. The current was strong, swimming south was a piece of cake, and swimming north was a bitch. Goggles from Thailand are still a hit and triathlon days came in handy. I love swimming.

In Varkala all the locals though we were Russians and said „Priviet“ to us on all occasions. — We are not f@%ing Russians and no I am not buying whatever you are selling. No, I am not hungry, and I am not going to eat in your restaurant. But wait do you have WiFi?

—Iza, maybe we should try this Blue Marlin a giant fish taking most of the space on the fish display tables, usually with a tomato pierced though the nose. With pain we order a piece, and I must say it was the best piece of fish I have ever tried. Tandori, grilled style.

We miss this place beyond your imagination, actually far from your imagination, as you can’t even imagine where we were. hehehe. But imagine, you are walking down a beach, south by the Arabian Sea, the cliff on the left, the waves on the right and you. Palm trees growing high above on the cliff, and you hear —Youooo Whoooo, pineapple, banana watermelon, Yoooo Whoooo— singing lady who sold fruits on the beach, she was a hit she had the best pineapple in town. The Nepalese guy from Tume, gave me a genuine smile every time. He liked my Cuban hat with his flag. We really do miss Varkala.

Wahid, was his name —Woman should stay home and care for the children— He said after looking at me. Is common in his culture.

Woman should stay home? I mean can they go out and play? No, not the kids, the woman?

He set the boundary straight. — Ladies you can stay here, just don’t temp the guys, cover up— he said. He was so not interested, yet always glancing. I looked and he looked away. — Is there an attraction?— he asked after few mojitos down the road. — Is there? I replied.

Perhaps, you look interesting and mysterious. I am awkwardly attracted to you. Is it the mole on your face? I love it. It looks suspicious, I am curious. Lets dance.

So we did, we dance to the music of warmth, desire and affection. I was living the Indian style, ejecting emotions, and pleasure. He had a piece of me, piece that I hid deep within. He touched me, he felt me and he complement me.

Amazing, fabulous, magnificent, genuine, priceless, fantastic, boombastic, wonderful, marvelously that was. A quickie that lasted for 10 days and ended without a trace. A physical connection, warmth of happiness and release of joy. — I miss his touch.— But he has not spoken, hiding away and probably looking to be arranged.

With time the thoughts fade, and I can only remember.

Krishna, a special character who once went to party with a group of 7 guys, and freaked out after smoking a joint and realized that there were only 6 guys left. — What happened to the 7th guy?— He had a paranoia and only the next day realized that he forgot to count himself.

— Ahh, these Russian woman they bend over the counter and all I see is boobs— Krishna said. Every day he had a story of a foreign woman wanting to hook up with him, yet never got some. He is a good guy a 35 year old, the oldest and the darkest of them all. Hare Hare.

Mr. Dean, the Brit who lives in Australian, and who had three girls for one nighters. He picked his cherry right, the final cherry was from UK and she moaned loud all right. F@%king was the sound of the house. Dinner time  moaning time. We laughed quietly as the two had roundabout of pleasure. Fuck me hard, with a delicate touch. Simply human they were.

I like Dean, he knew how to set the mood right, by far he has the best music selection, he always filled the house with good vibes, he is the party starter. A handsome, tall and massive human who likes to talk slow and occasionally looses himself in words.

Our average daily schedule? 20 minute run on the beach, oatmeal for breakfast, chapatti for lunch and 4 pm hatha yoga at Green Hotel with Hari. 6 pm after yoga a walk on the beach and back home for a late night curry dinner that followed with a smoke cipher. Krishna brought home the magic, a high beyond us. Which is what escalated the moaning and funky vibe at night. We fell into the daily groove, eating, smoking, drinking and no sleeping.

Anna, the other couchsurfer who surfed for 8 days is from France, silent chic with dreadlocks and lots of power. She shinned after rolling, and her preferred color was white. Similar to us, she‘s been on a road for a while and back in France she lives in her truck. It’s currently cold in France, so she is enjoying her sun shinning days in India, just like us. She is a warm-hearted girl.

Varkala, is know for many Ayurvedic treatment centers. Lots of fakers among real ones who want to feel the western bodies. Unless you have a recommendation chances are slim to find a real Ayurvedic center. We bumped into a random guy who claimed to be a doctor, Iza’s year 81 baby, who within half an hour told us exactly what is wrong with us during his free consultation. We liked his vibe, and felt he was on point so we agreed to try   body oil massage, of course we requested a woman masseuse. I have never been touched by a woman the way she touched me. Main focus was my boobs if I had any lumps on my boobs, I am sure they are gone. We shinned with greasy oils and we smelled like friend chicken. The oils that were used on us were specifically meant for our health.

Ilu, Wahid‘s cousin tough me Hindi—Tum Kese Ho? How are you? I am fine. Thank you. He was the warmest of them all, who loved to talk. —Same shit everyday— he said. He worked with Wahid, in the shop designing jewelry and running errands. Without a doubt the most smiling persona in the house. First time he cooked chicken curry in his life, was the spiciest one we have ever tried, even too spicy for him. He is the only one we stay in contact with, as he has Facebook. Cool.

Then there were the young boys, Shanu, who cooked the best curry in the house. — I miss you already, Aga.— He didn’t leave our sight the last day we were there. Sanjay, also known as Polish, who was in charge of polishing jewelry and who also made 30 or more chapattis a day to feed all 10 of us. And there were the other youngsters who never talked while Wahid was around.

It came the last day before we headed to Sri Lanka. Last dinner, last drinks, last smoke. We had a photo session, and one by one said goodbye as the younger guys went off to the shop as night watchers. Iza, Wahid, Krishna, Dean and I, all had a nice last cipher and exchanged good vibes of energy. — We are going to miss this place, for sure is one of our favorite spent times on this journey— Iza and I both agreed.

The door closed and the blue light was on, we hugged tight and I didn’t want to let go. — I got used to this— I said. Now, that our bodies are used to one another, and I am comfortable, I have to leave. It really does feel good to have someone by my side.

We started to kiss and tangled into one of the best nights of my life. Rollercoaster of rock and rolling, full arrange of expressions and pure ecstasy. I hope he felt what I felt I was naturally high. 4am and we were still up, stupid smiling and sitting on the floor eating sweets. — You are the good girl— he said. —And I am the bad guy.

—Whaaaat?— I looked puzzled. —Is there something I should know?

I knew then that this was probably the last time I will see him. I build no expectations, no questions I simply rode the wave and now it was crashing.   

One hour later the alarm rang and we were up. Semi conscious I put my backpack on and stepped out without looking. Inside I cried and my magnetic energy was not letting go. 

my masseuse


Shane'sChapattis


the younger crew


Dean.and Wahid


Last day last vibes


Krishna and Aga


Varkala beach from the cliff


on the cliff


Shanu making chapattis


YOOOUUU HOOO, Pinapple


Morning run


Indian beach


Hot Toddies living space

Varkala vibes

Before we go ahead with the rest of the posts and our travel stories, we want to reflect and share coolness that’s part of our journey. It’s about a place, a place in Varkala, a place where we felt home, a place where we lived for a month, ate curries with hands and made love.

Welcome to the house of Jewels Sky, a jewelry design business run by few guys from Jaipur. A house where five guys live on the grounds of a giant home and walk a short distance to workshop. We requested to CouchSurf for four days and end up staying for one month.

Their names are Wahid, Ilu, Shanu, Krishna and Dean the Australian character who was temporarily using the workshop to design his limited stone. A stone formed from a meteor that fell on the Czech grounds years ago and he digs deep for it.

Varkala is in Kerala, South of India, it has one of the best beaches in my opinion, is the quiet side to Goa. The 10-meter cliff marks the iconic beach and makes a perfect picture. The westerners are gathered in one area while the Indian beach is just few meters insight. What is an Indian beach? It’s a beach where all the Indians should be. Segregation, I know, what why? But it’s for a reason, lifeguards whistle for all the Indians off the beach as they walk and snap photos of the western chics. Get the F%@k off the beach... Sounds mean, but it really makes sense. I am sleeping off a hangover and a snap of my white body was taken and probably placed on Facebook for good luck.

Varkala, is just one of those places, where miracle happen. A romance with amazing endings, feeling high we shined.

—We are rock and rolling— he said, buzzed on the finally. Whaaaa!!! Amazing. Our bodies are perfect for each other.

—You are sexy.

Am I? I feel sexy and you make me sexy. It takes two to tangle and release.

Early morning 12pm, 10 minute walk on the road, 5 minute walk on the path, 2 minute walk on the sand and 20 minute swimming in the Arabic Sea. The current was strong, swimming south was a piece of cake, and swimming north was a bitch. Goggles from Thailand are still a hit and triathlon days came in handy. I love swimming.

In Varkala all the locals though we were Russians and said „Priviet“ to us on all occasions. — We are not f@%ing Russians and no I am not buying whatever you are selling. No, I am not hungry, and I am not going to eat in your restaurant. But wait do you have WiFi?

—Iza, maybe we should try this Blue Marlin a giant fish taking most of the space on the fish display tables, usually with a tomato pierced though the nose. With pain we order a piece, and I must say it was the best piece of fish I have ever tried. Tandori, grilled style.

We miss this place beyond your imagination, actually far from your imagination, as you can’t even imagine where we were. hehehe. But imagine, you are walking down a beach, south by the Arabian Sea, the cliff on the left, the waves on the right and you. Palm trees growing high above on the cliff, and you hear —Youooo Whoooo, pineapple, banana watermelon, Yoooo Whoooo— singing lady who sold fruits on the beach, she was a hit she had the best pineapple in town. The Nepalese guy from Tume, gave me a genuine smile every time. He liked my Cuban hat with his flag. We really do miss Varkala.

Wahid, was his name —Woman should stay home and care for the children— He said after looking at me. Is common in his culture.

Woman should stay home? I mean can they go out and play? No, not the kids, the woman?

He set the boundary straight. — Ladies you can stay here, just don’t temp the guys, cover up— he said. He was so not interested, yet always glancing. I looked and he looked away. — Is there an attraction?— he asked after few mojitos down the road. — Is there? I replied.

Perhaps, you look interesting and mysterious. I am awkwardly attracted to you. Is it the mole on your face? I love it. It looks suspicious, I am curious. Lets dance.

So we did, we dance to the music of warmth, desire and affection. I was living the Indian style, ejecting emotions, and pleasure. He had a piece of me, piece that I hid deep within. He touched me, he felt me and he complement me.

Amazing, fabulous, magnificent, genuine, priceless, fantastic, boombastic, wonderful, marvelously that was. A quickie that lasted for 10 days and ended without a trace. A physical connection, warmth of happiness and release of joy. — I miss his touch.— But he has not spoken, hiding away and probably looking to be arranged.

With time the thoughts fade, and I can only remember.

Krishna, a special character who once went to party with a group of 7 guys, and freaked out after smoking a joint and realized that there were only 6 guys left. — What happened to the 7th guy?— He had a paranoia and only the next day realized that he forgot to count himself.

— Ahh, these Russian woman they bend over the counter and all I see is boobs— Krishna said. Every day he had a story of a foreign woman wanting to hook up with him, yet never got some. He is a good guy a 35 year old, the oldest and the darkest of them all. Hare Hare.

Mr. Dean, the Brit who lives in Australian, and who had three girls for one nighters. He picked his cherry right, the final cherry was from UK and she moaned loud all right. F@%king was the sound of the house. Dinner time  moaning time. We laughed quietly as the two had roundabout of pleasure. Fuck me hard, with a delicate touch. Simply human they were.

I like Dean, he knew how to set the mood right, by far he has the best music selection, he always filled the house with good vibes, he is the party starter. A handsome, tall and massive human who likes to talk slow and occasionally looses himself in words.

Our average daily schedule? 20 minute run on the beach, oatmeal for breakfast, chapatti for lunch and 4 pm hatha yoga at Green Hotel with Hari. 6 pm after yoga a walk on the beach and back home for a late night curry dinner that followed with a smoke cipher. Krishna brought home the magic, a high beyond us. Which is what escalated the moaning and funky vibe at night. We fell into the daily groove, eating, smoking, drinking and no sleeping.

Anna, the other couchsurfer who surfed for 8 days is from France, silent chic with dreadlocks and lots of power. She shinned after rolling, and her preferred color was white. Similar to us, she‘s been on a road for a while and back in France she lives in her truck. It’s currently cold in France, so she is enjoying her sun shinning days in India, just like us. She is a warm-hearted girl.

Varkala, is know for many Ayurvedic treatment centers. Lots of fakers among real ones who want to feel the western bodies. Unless you have a recommendation chances are slim to find a real Ayurvedic center. We bumped into a random guy who claimed to be a doctor, Iza’s year 81 baby, who within half an hour told us exactly what is wrong with us during his free consultation. We liked his vibe, and felt he was on point so we agreed to try   body oil massage, of course we requested a woman masseuse. I have never been touched by a woman the way she touched me. Main focus was my boobs if I had any lumps on my boobs, I am sure they are gone. We shinned with greasy oils and we smelled like friend chicken. The oils that were used on us were specifically meant for our health.

Ilu, Wahid‘s cousin tough me Hindi—Tum Kese Ho? How are you? I am fine. Thank you. He was the warmest of them all, who loved to talk. —Same shit everyday— he said. He worked with Wahid, in the shop designing jewelry and running errands. Without a doubt the most smiling persona in the house. First time he cooked chicken curry in his life, was the spiciest one we have ever tried, even too spicy for him. He is the only one we stay in contact with, as he has Facebook. Cool.

Then there were the young boys, Shanu, who cooked the best curry in the house. — I miss you already, Aga.— He didn’t leave our sight the last day we were there. Sanjay, also known as Polish, who was in charge of polishing jewelry and who also made 30 or more chapattis a day to feed all 10 of us. And there were the other youngsters who never talked while Wahid was around.

It came the last day before we headed to Sri Lanka. Last dinner, last drinks, last smoke. We had a photo session, and one by one said goodbye as the younger guys went off to the shop as night watchers. Iza, Wahid, Krishna, Dean and I, all had a nice last cipher and exchanged good vibes of energy. — We are going to miss this place, for sure is one of our favorite spent times on this journey— Iza and I both agreed.

The door closed and the blue light was on, we hugged tight and I didn’t want to let go. — I got used to this— I said. Now, that our bodies are used to one another, and I am comfortable, I have to leave. It really does feel good to have someone by my side.

We started to kiss and tangled into one of the best nights of my life. Rollercoaster of rock and rolling, full arrange of expressions and pure ecstasy. I hope he felt what I felt I was naturally high. 4am and we were still up, stupid smiling and sitting on the floor eating sweets. — You are the good girl— he said. —And I am the bad guy.

—Whaaaat?— I looked puzzled. —Is there something I should know?

I knew then that this was probably the last time I will see him. I build no expectations, no questions I simply rode the wave and now it was crashing.   

One hour later the alarm rang and we were up. Semi conscious I put my backpack on and stepped out without looking. Inside I cried and my magnetic energy was not letting go. 

my masseuse


Shane'sChapattis


the younger crew


Dean.and Wahid


Last day last vibes


Krishna and Aga


Varkala beach from the cliff


on the cliff


Shanu making chapattis


YOOOUUU HOOO, Pinapple


Morning run


Indian beach


Hot Toddies living space