through my eyes...

Saying farewell to Esalen...

colleen_finn — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 05:28:00 GMT

There are lots of reasons people do yoga. Some people practice it purely for spiritual reasons, while others for the mental, emotional, and physical benefits. Not being a particularly spiritual person, I do it for the mental and physical aspects of the practice. My reasons are simple: when I do yoga, I feel happier and healthier.

Throughout the week, some of my fellow students have shared their experiences on how yoga has changed their life and also shared some of the mental, emotional, or spiritual breakthroughs they’ve experienced during this workshop. I have my own stories about how yoga has improved my life, but they seem to pale in comparison. Yoga didn’t help me heal after a motorcycle accident or a major operation, and it hasn’t helped me deal with the grief of a lost loved one. It's possible that I've grown too cynical to realize its full benefits in my life, but maybe I get exactly what I need from it and no more.

So here we are, the last day of the workshop. I am going to miss the delicious routine that I’ve had going this week, which was comprised of yoga classes, 3 to 4 soaks in the baths each day, and lots of good food. After so much yoga and luxurious bathing, I bet you’re thinking that I should be a master at stilling my mind by now. Remember my Pranayama yoga on the first morning? Well, this morning, my Pranayama experience went more like this:

<inhale> “I wonder what it means when you dream of being surrounded by oversized cakes and pastries.” <exhale> .......... <inhale> “Need coffee.” <exhale> ........... <inhale> “Coffee and a double serving of granola...yeah.” <exhale> .......... <inhale> “I need to remember to get the recipe for kale salad.” <exhale>

I would like to tell you that the lengthy pauses between arbitrary thoughts represent an improvement—a “stilling of the internal dialogue” that is the ideal—but they actually represent periods when I lapsed into a light slumber. Perhaps this indicates that I have a lack of discipline, but yesterday when a goat grazing outside the yoga dome passed gas repeatedly during a meditative pose, I was able to stop myself from bursting into giggles. Doesn’t that take discipline?

So after a week of blissing out on yoga and mineral baths, I’ve had no little epiphanies to report, no spiritual awakenings, and zero improvement in the Pranayama department. But I’ve learned a lot from the instructor, experienced wonderful yoga classes, reveled in the beauty of my surroundings, eaten fabulous food, met wonderful people, and discovered I could bathe naked in public. I think the week has been a smashing success. I can’t wait to return.

As always, thanks for sharing in the experience. Until next time...

Braving the storm...

colleen_finn — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 21:20:00 GMT

I mentioned an unseasonable October storm. It reminded me of the storms we get in Portland with powerful gale winds blowing rain in sideways—the kind of thing that renders umbrellas completely useless. During yoga classes yesterday, the wind was powerful enough to severely shake the yoga dome (yoga is conducted in a large yurt-like dome overlooking the ocean below). It created a nice contrast to the practice because even while it forced me to concentrate on the pose despite the raging storm outside, it also made me appreciate the beauty of practicing so close to nature instead of in a windowless room downtown.

After a delicious dinner of healthy organic food, I decided to spend the rest of my evening braving the storm from the vantage point of the baths. It's exhilerating to be luxuriously ensconced in hot mineral water while the wind and rain cool your face and shoulders. The rocky beach below was a writhing mass of white foam from crashing waves that got up to 15 feet throughout the day. I discovered that a hot bath in the rain is better than any sleeping drug. I slept right through Pranayama yoga this morning.

For these reasons, I'm sorry that the storm has passed. As I write, the sun has peeked through a scattering of clouds and is quickly heating the temperature. Everything is fresh and washed from yesterday's cleaning and debris from the trees and plants are scattered everywhere upon the grounds.

Incidentally, because I've been asked, I thought I should clarify that the co-ed, clothing-optional thing is only in the baths and pool, so you certainly do not find yourself awkwardly averting your gaze while pouring your morning coffee, scooping up a second helping of kale salad, or while walking to your workshop class. And while it's true that there are many people here who might fall into a 'hippie' category by some people's standards, most are the sort you might run into at your favorite coffee shop. The students in my workshop are everything from massage therapists and yoga instructors to psychologists and attorneys. They come from across the globe to enjoy this beautiful place and learn from an amazing instructor. I feel lucky to be here.

On the notion of "optional"...

colleen_finn — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 21:33:00 GMT

I think one of the jewels of Esalen is their magnificent mineral baths, which appear to be carved right into a cliff overlooking the rocky beach below. As you enter the modern stone baths, there are bathrooms, a large dressing area, showers with sliding glass doors that open right to the ocean, a massage area, and then the baths themselves—all of which are co-ed (right down to the bathrooms), and all of which are clothing-optional. Being a naturally modest person, I felt pretty certain that I wouldn't exercise that option and packed my swimsuit. But when I arrived and took a peek at the baths, I noted that there wasn't a single stitch of clothing to be seen. I am not sure about the notion of "optional" when no one chooses the alternative option. At that point, the real option is much baser than a superficial layer of clothing. The option becomes: "do I want to look like a self-conscious idiot or don't I?" Or, "do I want to go against the grain, or do I want to go with the flow?" I decided immediately that my desire to not look like an idiot was far greater than my desire to demurely cover up.

I'm sure this says something important about my character that I really should pay attention to, but I'm choosing the option of ignoring it.

Instead, I'm opting to revel in the liberation that comes from enjoying a hot mineral bath in the great outdoors without worrying about my clothing, my body, or my appearance. When everyone is naked, nudity loses its novelty quickly and instead you either turn your attention inward or outward to your surroundings. Today, our surroundings are blowing all around in an awesome unseasonable October storm, complete with high winds, downpour, and big crashing waves. And of course, I didn't pack appropriately for this—but that matters not when you're soaking nude in a hot mineral bath while the cold wind whips rain against your exposed shoulders and face.

Escaping to Esalen...

colleen_finn — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 22:03:00 GMT

I normally don't feel the need to journal during 'staycations' (for me, a "staycation" is any vacation within the continental U.S.), but the moment I arrived at the Esalen Institute for a week-long yoga workshop, my mind immediately went into journaling mode. This is the mode where I begin processing everything as though I'm writing and my brain begins to dictate until I have no choice but to write down my thoughts or allow the words to evaporate into an ether of unrealized linguistic potential.

For those unfamiliar with the Esalen Institute (as I was before I came here), it is a non-profit organization located in Big Sur, California and situated on 27 coastal acres overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was founded in the early 1960s as a place committed to exploring the "human potential movement." It has had many famous students and teachers, such as Aldous Huxley, Buckminster Fuller, Abraham Maslow, and B.F. Skinner. I don't know much about the human potential movement, but I do know yoga, and I'm here to practice with an instructor that came highly recommended by a friend in hopes of reaching my own potential as a yoga practitioner. During this week, I will enjoy 6 hours of yoga a day (yes, I said SIX HOURS...I'm in yoga heaven), healthy food (much of which is organically grown right on the grounds) and the rejuvenating mineral baths. Or, to be more specific, the rejuvenating, clothing-optional mineral baths (more on this soon).

The six hours of yoga are separated into three 2-hour sessions. The first two hours are devoted to Pranayama yoga, which focuses on breathing and meditation. This is the part of yoga that I have the most trouble with. Despite repeated efforts, stilling my mind is something I simply cannot do on cue. This morning, my Pranayama practice went a little like this:

<inhale> “I wonder what was in that salad dressing last night.” <exhale> “I like the way the nuts were toasted before tossing them in the salad.” <inhale> “Did I remember to turn on my Out of Office message?” <exhale> “No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.” <inhale> “Wow, my feet are really cold.” <exhale> “The next time I go back to the bunks, I need to remember to grab some socks.” <inhale> “I wonder how many scoops of coffee I should put in my small French press…six? Eight?” <exhale> “I could sure use some coffee right now.” <inhale> “Was that a snore I just heard?” <exhale> “Yep.” <inhale> "Well, at least it isn't as loud as the freight train in the bunk across from me."

I’m a little ADD when it comes to Pranayama. I guess that makes me an undisciplined yogi. But at least I keep trying.

Bidding India namaste...

colleen_finn — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 09:08:00 GMT

Today is my last day in India. After three weeks, I feel I've seen and done enough to fill twice that amount of time, yet I find myself no closer to answering the perplexing and inevitable question, "What is India like?". I cannot presume to know how to answer this question adequately in three weeks' time. I suspect three years wouldn't be enough.

In A Passage to India, E.M. Forster wrote "nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or merge into something else." I find this to be absolutely true of India. Every village, every city, and every local person you talk to can change your conclusions in a breath, leaving you unsure of what it was you thought in the first place. But, there's just something about this place. It has its beauty, but its landscape is so stripped raw by poverty and pollution as to render it naked and vulnerable, revealing only truth. I've seen very little that is contrived here. India doesn't put on airs or make apologies, even if the people might.
India is what it is.

Maybe that's the "something" about India—the truth of it. A truth as complex as it is contradictory. It is a place of intense spirituality and archaic superstition. It is both wealthy and achingly poor. It is a place of magnificent beauty and utter wretchedness. It is both proud and humble, humane and inhumane, dignified and wholly, unapologetically without dignity. Perhaps the best way to look upon India is through the lens of Hinduism, for it has as many faces, incarnations, and attributes as there are gods in the Hindu pantheon. India is strong, weak, perseveres, falters, loves, hates, creates, and destroys in an endless cycle of birth, persistence, and death.

This is the India that I've seen in the last several weeks, and the one that I will miss. Still, I'm also relieved to be returning home, where I can brush my teeth with tap water, have reliable electricity, where there is far less trash in the streets, and no fear of stepping in cow dung when you walk in the city. Where I can be anonymous and not attract the attention of every Raj, Sumit, and Sanjay. And where I can finally be rid of the plague of Delhi Belly (which, of course, presented itself for an encore performance just as I begin to embark upon my trip home).

So, just as I began my trip by slowly plugging into the stresses and tedium of my travel life, I now begin to unplug myself from India so I can ease back into home. But India will never leave me completely. I am grateful to have had this opportunity to experience such a complicated and amazing country, and as always, I thank you for sharing in the adventure. Until next time...

My last day at the center...

colleen_finn — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 10:15:00 GMT

After several days of volunteering in a cramped room in 100+ degree heat, we finally had a morning with a breeze, making the temperatures tolerable enough to take the boys to the park. As we walked through the busy Nizamuddin Railway Station, it pained me to see that most of the boys walked through the filthy streets without shoes—streets that are full of trash, cow dung, oil, rotting food sraps, and all manner of sharp objects. I'm told that if I were to buy them shoes, they would simply sell them. They have little need for shoes.

We had a great time playing games at the park until it became too hot to stay outdoors. As we slowly walked back to the center, the boys raced to be the ones to hold my hands on the way back. It made me happy to know that they enjoy having me here, but I have to say, it drew a lot of curious looks from the locals. I wonder what they were thinking—like "who's this depraved Western woman coming to steal away our street boys?"

One of our newest boys, Chonda, is a tiny munchkin of only 6 years old. He's the smallest, angriest little guy in our center and will pick a fight with anyone, regardless of their size. He has pink scars on his face that are a stark contrast against his dark skin. Some scars are the result of abuse, some he received while living on the street (and both likely explanations for his wild behavior). Surprisingly, he's lived on the street for a while...and remember, he's six. He didn't acknowledge me at all when he arrived, but yesterday he surprised me by calling to me in Hindi and asking me to play a clapping game with him. I was told that what he called me was "good one." To Chonda, I am the "good one." I shudder to think of how many "bad ones" he's encountered in his short life, and what they did to earn that title. Later that day, when he flared up multiple times over some perceived wrongdoing (however innocent), he allowed me to calm him down. I discovered tickling is a good method. :) There may be barriers of geography and language between people, but humanity is universal in our world. This means that regardless of who they are or where they live, all children love to play, to laugh, to have your attention, and to be loved.

Sadly, yesterday was my last day at the center. The boys made me a card and gave me their love, knowing I was departing for home soon. It hasn't escaped my attention that the kids I've worked with here in Delhi are much the same as the beggar children that I've encountered since I arrived in India. I never doubted that all of those street kids had lives outside of begging and were typical children, but actually seeing this and engaging with them has been an invaluable experience—and also makes me feel better about giving to them in a way that is more valuable than a few rupees. I can only hope that some of the boys I've worked with in Delhi will be placed in schools or reunited with their families, because the streets here are much too harsh for even the strongest of adults. And they are just children. I will miss them.

Hangin' with street kids....

colleen_finn — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 15:27:00 GMT

Life in Delhi has been going smoothly. I've already fallen into a routine: I go to the center in the morning and work with the boys on their English, then we do physical education in the afternoon. After I leave the center, I take a tuk tuk to some Delhi sight to make sure I get in some sightseeing while I'm here. The other day I saw Humayun's tomb, which pre-dates the Taj Mahal; and Gandhi Smriti, a lovely monument made of the place where Gandhi spent his last 144 days before he was assassinated.

At the center, the boys call me "Colleen-didi." "Didi" is like saying "older sister" and considered an affectionate term of respect. As you might expect in any group setting, some boys are eager to learn and participate—one particular boy, Ankit, is extremely intelligent and far ahead of the others—while others are more shy or less trusting, preferring instead to hang back and watch. On my first day at the center, one boy named Ramesh refused to participate and looked upon me with frank distrust. However, he silently watched me interact with the other boys all day long and by my second day, I was thrilled to see that he was one of my most enthusiastic participants. I guess he decided the American woman was okay :)

Yesterday was a particularly difficult day. The temperatures here have hovered at or above 100 degrees (before I came here I checked on the temperatures and it said between 75 and 85—either this is unseasonable heat or that data is sorely outdated). Anyhow, temperatures like these would make the most mature, well-behaved person cranky. You can just imagine what it does to a cramped room full of boys aged 6 to 14. Every lesson and game was interrupted with me breaking up fights. If it weren't for the fact that I am taller and stronger than they are, it would be a little frightening.

But aside from this, the boys are essentially good kids in a desperate situation. Jitaen, a boy who literally hangs on me because he wants and needs so much attention, is terribly undernourished and was severely abused before he came to Delhi. Others came from horrible poverty—and the poverty really must be horrible to prefer life at the Nizamuddin railway station. Before coming to the center, some had experience with drugs on the street. Begging is one way that they get the money for the drugs, but trading sex is another way. It's the kind of stuff that makes your heart ache.

On Agra and volunteering...

colleen_finn — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 12:54:00 GMT

After Jaipur, we headed to Agra. Agra, of course, is home to the spectacular Taj Mahal, which took an astounding 22,000 workers 12 years to build. It was built in 1631 by Shah Jahan (a Muslim ruler) as a memorial to his third wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died in childbirth. Pictures of the monument cannot possibly do it justice. The perfect architectural symmetry, the mosaic work using semi-precious stones, and the intricate floral reliefs chiseled into the white marble have to be seen in person to truly appreciate them.

After the Taj Mahal, we saw some other local sights (e.g., the Baby Taj and Agra Fort), then started the journey back to Delhi. This marked the end of my tour through Rajasthan, but the beginning of a new adventure: my week of volunteer work. When I reached Delhi, I made contact with the organization and grabbed a tuk tuk to the volunteer house, which is in the home of Rajiv and Priya, two former English professors who now act as volunteer coordinators for the organization with whom I'm working. Their home is in a relatively well-to-do neighborhood in south Delhi; but of course, well-to-do by India standards is not the same as American standards. It is a humble and comfortable home with several other volunteers, a Nepalese maid who does the cooking and cleaning, and their bipolar dog, Jenny.

I thought I was going to be assigned to an orphanage, but as it happens, I was assigned instead to work in a facility for street kids—boys, in particular (there's a different facility for girls). These are children who run away from home for various reasons, such as extreme poverty or abuse, and then come to Delhi via the railway in hopes of a better life. They usually end up living on the streets and begging (either on their own or as part of a begging "ring" organized by unethical adults), and some will fall prey to a worse fate. The organization that I volunteer with provides them with an informal education, a safe place to stay, counseling, and food. The facility that I work in is a dingy three-room flat next to Nizamuddin railway station, a particularly seedy and poverty-stricken part of town. It's located there because that's where many of these kids arrive to Delhi after precariously hitching a ride atop a train car or sneaking in on one of the open-air cars.

My job at the facility is to provide the informal education. It's considered "informal" because the facility is not a licensed school, but focuses on "repatriating" the kids; that is, reuniting them with their families, if it is possible and safe for the child. However, since many of these children have not been exposed to the English language, they are introduced to the basics at the center. And that's where I come in. I rather thought I would just be assisting since I'm only here for a week, but to my surprise they had me leading within the first 15 minutes of my arrival. Thankfully, I was able to fall back on my Peru experience and recalled some of the lessons, so I quickly did a review of their knowledge of basic vocabulary and then tried to come up with games to keep them engaged using the English words they already knew and some new ones that I introduced. Afterwards, we did a period of physical activity. Since the room where I teach is extremely tiny, it left me with few options. So, I led them in activities that I know (and which could be done in a small space): yoga and basic self defense (boy, when I studied martial arts I had no idea I would put it to use this way!) Understandably, the boys loved that part. It was an exhausting day...and only day one.

On Bundi, Jaipur, and common threads...

colleen_finn — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 10:13:00 GMT

We've left behind the city of Bundi and are preparing to leave Jaipur. Each city that I've been to has its own vibe. Bundi is a smaller city with a slightly sleepier feel and a picturesque palace (Bundi Palace) that looks as though it just emerged from the side of the hill. Jaipur is a larger city with fewer cows milling around, but many more interesting palaces and a few more areas that are relatively clean and well-kept. In Jaipur, we saw the magnificent 16th-century Amber Fort and entered it on the backs of elephants. After riding a camel, riding an elephant is a bit anti-climactic because it's so big that you sit easily in its "saddle," and moves so slowly that there's no fear of toppling off if it starts trotting. In Jaipur I also saw the beautiful City Palace, another 16th century structure that houses two massive vases that are the largest silver objects in the world. I also enjoyed seeing my first "Bollywood" movie that was, well...interesting. I didn't understand all of it (they curiously use a combination of English and Hindi—Hinglish—and there's no subtitles), but from what I did understand, it seemed a little cheesy :)

Even though every city has a unique flavor, they all share some common threads. Beautiful palaces, forts, and/or temples juxtaposed against the agonizing sight of poverty and pollution. Trash-filled, rancid-smelling waterways run along the sides of the roads. Vibrantly painted temples and buildings seem to scream in defiance at their dingy, dirty, and dilapidated surroundings. The look of hunger: children begging for food and mothers holding babies asking for money for milk; and cows, feral dogs, and the occasional wild pig foraging in the trash for edible scraps. Perhaps the locals are not feeding the cows enough, because today I saw one eating a newspaper and another one eating a plastic carton.

And of course, there are always the swarms of people. The population in India is approximately 1.7 billion, some of whom spend the afternoon at home, in school, or working, but some also mill around listlessly, whiling away the hot afternoons with their friends and neighbors. The other day the temperature reached a stifling 104 degrees. The heat made me feel as zapped of energy as the locals appear to be—I am referring to those who simply lie on the side of the street or in a corridor to nap away the hottest afternoon hours. Sometimes, they appear so thin and lifeless lying there that I have to stare hard to see if they are still breathing.

No matter where you go, it's hard to escape these common threads. But of course, although these are the scenes that impress themselves upon me most because they are the most foreign, it isn't accurate to say that the scene I've painted is everywhere in India. It's an interesting contrast to see so much wealth in the palaces, forts, and temples, yet so much destitution in the streets. It appears that the wealth in India doesn't trickle into the masses. As a result, there is a massive population of people here who live in the kind of poverty that I simply can't imagine. All I can do is look upon it from the outside.

Food, wonderful food...

colleen_finn — Thu, 9 Apr 2009 09:32:00 GMT

Indian cuisine proves that there are hundreds of different uses for lentils, and most of them don't involve soup. I haven't tried all the options yet, but I am slowly making my way through them. I particularly like a well-made dal (a lentil puree), scooped up with roti or naan, both of which are flatbreads.

Breakfast here is usually a meal that consists of savory items and I find that I like the vadas (savory donuts made of lentil flour) and the stuffed parathas best (which is a flatbread stuffed with vegetables, cheese, or potato). A typical Indian breakfast also includes spicy pickles. I tried it, but just couldn't get myself used to having hot pickles in the morning (or any pickle, for that matter).

Last night we had a particularly good traditional Rajasthani thali, which is a vegetarian platter with many dishes that cover all possible tastes—sweet, savory, spicy, something that heats the palate, and something that cools. My favorite dishes were the paneer and bhindi (sauteed cheese and okra), the chaat (a slightly sweet buttermilk sauce with a touch of chutney), and the vegetable biryani (it's like an Indian fried rice). One thing I can't get used to here are the sweets. I thought Americans had a sweet tooth, but you haven't tasted sweet until you've tried the desserts here.

Overall, India is a food-lover's grand adventure and a vegetarian's paradise. But of course, pleasure has its down side. Like Delhi Belly. I've already had it once and I am taking great pains to avoid an encore...