back to the roots

The embrace of civilzation and non-self

tedigeorgieva — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 14:56:00 GMT

Almost everyone we spoke to about our travel to India warned us about the culture shock one experiences when steeping out of the comfort zone of the West. The shock was probably there, but by the time we could actually feel the impact of it amidst our desperate efforts to survive, it had somehow got worn off. We had acquired a remarkable skill to walk unharmed between rickshaws, cows, cow dung, trucks, vendors and beggars, we did not expect any more to be served at a restaurant simultaneously (in fact, many of our expectations had vanished), we had developed a new sense of humor and a belief that things work out even when such possibility seems unrealistic.

No one had prepared us though for the shock we were to receive in Thailand! Bangkok airport is one of the most modern airports I've seen. Automatic walking paths framed in decorative plants, panoramic glass walls, gigantic statues of heavenly gods and demons guarding the entrance to the country, pristine cleanliness and, as it usually happens with countries which citizens are aware of the value of their land, an unfriendly cold and efficient immigration officer. 10 min after landing we are out of the airport in a taxi zooming on a super fast highway towards super modern high rises amidst which the golden pagodas of the wats (temples) look like a jewellery on a business suit.

Five days in Bangkok and I am still to see the madness of it (as told by some travel advisers). In fact, there is so much to explore here that I could spend a month wandering the birthday-cake-in style-like wats, museums and parks. We visited the Grand Palace - the home of the emerald Buddha (and of another thousand golden Buddha statues), Wat Poh - the ancient school for traditional Thai massage, where our stiff bones cracked like Diwali fireworks, and a Thai puppet show - a delightful combination of classical Thai dance, doll craftsmanship and the Indian myth of Ramayana (a monkey god chasing a beauty; monster slayed by the moon god causing eclipse; the elixir of life being churned in an ocean of milk by a dragon-snake and a garuda (half man-half bird) as a witness of a war between gods and demons.

Another adventure and a wonder of civilization was my radical haircut :-) Finally a country where hairstylists do not turn me down when I ask for short!

We left Bangkok with the intention to come back and visit the floating market, the national gallery and another dozen of must sees...

Next stop in Thailand was Boon Kanjanaram Meditation Centre where we hoped to receive a taste of Thai Theravada Buddhist tradition known for its monastic discipline and austerity ( somewhat similar to Goenka's Vipassana school). Prepared for 15hrs of meditation, silence and two meals a day (most of the wats here follow a schedule of only one meal, depending on the collected alms), we drove through central Pattaya and its beaches hosting almost entirely retired (or close) western gentlemen and their Thai escorts. With no time to ponder over this uniform in Thailand arrangement, we were introduced to the resident teacher of the Meditation Centre, Miss Vitoon, given a book with the theory of the Vipassana method practiced here, and told to report the following morning.

For the next 6 days we were instructed to observe 4 major positions of the body (lying, sitting, standing and walking) working with these concepts:

1. The body or "rupa" in each position is a different body "rupa" (ex., sitting rupa is not the same as walking rup, etc.) By observing this the yogi, or the practitioner, realizes that there is no continuity of matter but rising and falling manifestations of it.
2. The change from on position to another should be done only when prompted by significant discomfort (bodily pain) and not because of desire or craving for change. By following the instruction one must see that "rupa" is driven by necessity to avoid suffering, thus reaffirming the first noble truth in Buddhism ( life is suffering). The practitioner also learns to not follow his/her cravings, but know the ultimate reason for desire.
3. "Rupa" is not self: the yogi understands that there is no "me" or "I" that suffers - it is "rupa" (which one has no control over) that is the carrier of suffering.

I was both puzzled and intrigued by the technique. Certainly the theory was hard enough to digest, but the practice turned out to be even more challenging. We were left on our own disposal and had to tackle the "non-self" of "rupa" in the individual kuties (bungalows) with even the meals brought to our doors. With no structure as such, I was swinging between exhaustion from the constant concentration required for mindful leaving (remember, we had to be aware of the reason of each movement "rupa" performed ) and the impression that I was just lazying around while waiting for enlightenment :-)

The retreat is over, and I don't feel much closer to enlightenment, which in simple terms means that I still crave chocolate ice cream, complain about the weather and believe that I am the body and the mind called Teodora :-)

Monastery Sounds

tedigeorgieva — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 20:46:00 GMT

Serene abode hidden from the world of mundane worries, immersed in silence, contemplation and prayer... I used to imagine monks sitting in meditation for hours whispering mantras and solemnly surcumambulating big white stupas ( Buddhist architectural symbol of enlightenment the stupa is usually filled with auspicious objects, relics, prayer scrolls and mantras).

Tibetan Buddhism is anything but quiet. A Tibetan gompa (temple) is inevitably furnished with drums of enormous size and cymbals to match the drums. And boy, the get used! The communication with the deities, be that a call to a protector or a destroyer, is lead on high decibels. Add to this Orf-like percussion group the conshells, the monstrous rodons and smaller racket making instruments and you've got the full picture of the Tibetan "orchestra" - sparkling bright, pompous, almost like the improbable intricate and ravishing wall paintings.

No wonder that the singing follows the same art technique. The vocal "training" in the monasteries starts early. Boy's are admitted in their 6th year. All prayers and texts are chanted out loud (not necessarily in a chorus!) and memorized. Buddhists do not practise silent prayers - a prayer begins its life in the sound of it!

My frst encounter with monastic chanting happened in Ladakh. We were attending a puja (service) at Tiksey Gompa. The young monks were gathering at the entrance and were divided to two groups by thir master , a monk in his mid thirties.j Soon it became clear that to be transferred from one group to the other the boys had to let the master smack their palms with a stick. I was terrified and ready to close my eyes so that I don't have to witness this cruelty when my attention was drawn to the face of the punisher. There was no trace of malice, annoyance, irritation or any similar emotion I thought necessary for such atrocious act. He appear5ed to be performing a mundane task, a duty, and was busy with calculating the intensity of the blow - it was obvious that the younger "culprits" were punished much gentler than the older ones.

Once on the safe side, the boys began to chant. The sound was so open, free and powerful that it felt it came from their entire bodies. It was not a cultivated, shaped and channeled voice we teach our kids to sing with (NOT that I suggest to start smacking our choristers!). The sound was raw but sung with abandon, almost like a rebellious, revolutionary song. I thought it quite appropriate for the occasion, until a friendly Tibetan translated it for us as " I am sorry I did not come to puja yesterday"...

We are staying at Kopan Monastery near Kathmandu. The boys undergoing monastic training co live here with the young and elderly monks. We often hear them chant together, children's voices and octave higher the deep baritones. Too often to call it an accident they break into perfect fifths and carry them with gusto and abandon. The harmonization proved again how natural the overtone scale is to the human voices (I don't think that the monks are thought how to harmonize).

I love walking around the grounds of the monastery during the study periods. Then, one can hear the monks reading their texts, the monotony interrupted by a wave in the intonation, a breath, or just another splash of free sound. They all recite on their own, so the result is a pollyrythmic, atonal and stereo beehive effect. Amazing!

Yesterday was Saturday, what it seems, the only weekend for Nepalis. In a couple of hours the monastery was transformed into a family entertainment park. Hundreds of people flooded the monastery grounds: the elders rushed to the temple to prostrate in front of the statue of Buddha, than to circumambulate the stupa in their brisk and busy manner.

Young people gallivated in groups or couples, invariable wearing jeans and talking on cell phones.

Somebody had brought their goats to graze on holly grass. The goats waring saffron ties they did look more enlightened and ha d a certain opinion about the garden design.

The children formed a second circle around the elders while chasing each other adding up to the jolly chaos. It was interesting that no adult tried to discipline them - this was a place of joy and the reverence would come with years of rituals and family tradition. Meanwhile, they hurled themselves down the mild slopes around the retreat area where we were trying to have a silent retreat, and I had one more chance to practise non separateness, and happiness for others.

The crowds retreated in the afternoon and the last sounds of the day were the lonely cricket in the bush, a crow, and two eight year old monks almost hopping around the stupa and stuttering in the evening cold : " Om Mane Pad-d-d-d-d-dme Hum! Om, Mane Pad-d-d-d-dd-........."

A Day in Delhi

tedigeorgieva — Sun, 16 Dec 2007 00:05:00 GMT

In the morning, we headed for a free schedule sight seeing of Delhi, Our first stop was Jamma Masjid, the largest mosque in India, a magnificent complex built of red and white stone whit a spacious inner yard able to hold thousands of devotees. To take a camera in would have cost us quite a lot, so we took turns walking around the water pool of the complex and enjoying the views on the city from the three entrances pointing to different directions. I marveled at the warmth of the stone, the architecture that allowed air to move freely between the arched portals surrounding the yard, the pigeons fed generously by visitors (not with a birth control food as at St. Marco’s in Venice J and the cold ground under my bear feet that felt refreshing.

The next destination was the Red Fort, the last extravaganza of Mughal rulers. It was at a walking distance so we decided to avoid bargaining with rickshaw drivers and have a stroll. A stroll in Delhi means maneuvering between crowds of people, motorcycles, tea and other vendor stalls, bicycle rickshaws offering a ride, tour guides selling their services, and in our case…goats.

Our attention was frequently pulled to men with exotic tall goats unusually large and colorful. Before we new it we were surrounded by goats of all kinds, and I mean “tight”. From thinking “how cute!” I quickly went to “Goats! More! Where is the path?!” We actually had to push our way through a goat field moving some taily butts manually.

Having paid our tax to the upcoming Muslim holiday Id, we lingered at the enormous line up of people wishing to visit the Red Ford. Eventually, we decided to limit our sight seeing of the Ford to the outer façade and search for a calmer cultural experience.

The national museum was a perfect place to savor quietude. Two hours of Hindu gods carved in stone, wood and paper and our curiosity for classical art was satisfied.

WE headed for the modern part of Delhi and in particular the Conought Place, a complex of circular streets situated within each other. The place is known for its department stores, expensive restaurants and cinemas. Our aim was a good cup of coffee (here in India, many unfamiliar drinks have a familiar name). The place we could afford (yes, there are many restaurants which would threaten any Western middle class wallet) was a modern café with excruciatingly loud pop music, groups of lazing on the leather couches young jeansed Indians, and delicious coffee Latte.

We decided to finish the day with a Hindi movie in on of the new high security movie theatres. A quick snack in the company of friends we had met a month ago in Dharamsala and we were in our comfy seats, ready to cry, laugh and dance with the audience (we were told that and Indian movie is as much about the film as about the participation of the audience in the Bolliwood passions).

The audience was a disappointment – restricted, well behaved and meek J But the movie was grand! The music, the choreography, the acting and the mastery with which the story was told were captivating. It mad up for our lack of understanding of Hindi and brought tears to our eyes and jolts to our limbs. We were so delighted that we didn’t mind being the only ones in the movie hall to hum and dance with the actors. Viva Bollywood!

A Night in Delhi

tedigeorgieva — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 23:40:00 GMT

After our short visit to Delhi almost five months ago in the monsoon chaos and after having heard from other travelers of the city only in derogatory terms we were heading to the Indian capital with a mixture of excitement (as the last month was the most uneventful of our travels) for the hassle of city life and fear from that same polluted and noisy manifestation of life bordering with madness.

We had e-booked a room in hotel Ajanta and were pleasantly surprised to see how well kept and respectable it looked. An elegantly dressed young clerk greeted us in perfect English and invited us to sit in his office while he was what it seemed like feeling up some forms. After once more welcoming us to Delhi and offering drinks the clerk asked us to follow the hotel boy to our "room". You can imagine how surprised we were when we where walked out of the hotel where our backpacks already waited for us on the street. A taxi was called and our luggage was ready to be loaded on it.

Our expectations of hot shower and bed were so crudely tramped that we were stunned! Having overcome the shock we demanded explanation to such a "curious" way of getting to "our room" - the mumble of the clerk, who suddenly had lost his brilliant English could tell us only one thing - they were overbooked and were not going to apologize for it. Our only option was to accept a room in the hotel they had an agreement with.

Five minutes down the main street and were at a gloomy cold hotel which looked deserted by guests and overcrowded by the staff mingling in front of the lobby's wide screen TV. The only room we like turned out to cost double the ammount we had paid over Internet and exasperated we decided to go back to Ajanta and as for a decent room.

The taxi that took five minutes to deliver us from Ajanta now did not arrive in half an hour, and living the new hotel's manager on the phone with Ajanta, we headed there in a rickshaw.

By the time we reached Ajanta I had lost all my calm and was steaming with righteous indignation. My adrenaline was high up and I was fully engaged in my rage. I realized later how difficult it was to detach from anger, how powerful it pulled me in, how willing I was to embrace it. I was terrified to admit that I even enjoyed this stir of energy that made me feel entitled to action...

While Misha was equally unhappy with the situation, his composure could be only envied. Once we arrived to Ajanta, still having no explanations given to, Misha asked to speak with the owner of the hotel. From what appeared to be an amiable conversation one thing was clear - we had to go back to the other hotel, where we were promised the room we liked.

Back in the "sister" hotel we were ready rest when the hotel manager announced that the room was booked. In a matter of 20min! At 11 p.m.!

Again Misha asked to be connected with the owner of Ajanta (who we were told owned this hotel as well - another lie!) and he added he would like to have the phone number of Delhi police.

It is still a mystery to us which of the two helped the vacancy of the room, but we were immediately given the key and asked to register, which we did for the 2 booked nights (the number of nights was later conveniently forgotten by the manager and we had to prove our booking while rushing to the airport).

Oh, Indian inventiveness! It kept us alert and gave hundreds of opportunities to practice self awareness and acceptance.

Letter from Rishikesh

tedigeorgieva — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 20:21:00 GMT

Dear Friends,

the title of this letter may surprise you, but as I and Misha recently discovered, for four months we had managed to travel in India and ovoid the Indian. Dharamsala, Ladakh and Bir ( read about it on my travel blog : http://journals.worldnomads.com/tedigeorgieva/post/12044.aspx )

were predominantly Tibetan, and the Indian flavour we experienced was very little if at all enough to give us a taste of what was to come.

And what came was the "muchness" of this vast land, and "muchness" is the only word that describes it for me. There are sounds and noises, collours and shapes, faiths and beliefs,people, people and when the buss is full, even more people...and all of it much...too much :-)

We are in Rishikesh, which proudly takes its place on the tourist Indian map as the "yoga capital of the world" ( just too much to say). In reality, it is just a tourist hub, only here every fifth Indian (an exaggeration of course) has a yoga or and ayurvedic massage studio (another exaggeration: the studio is most of the times a tiny dark room with moldy floor and a dozen of soiled yoga mats). Similarly to the neighboring Haridwar we visited on the way here, it is also a Hindu pilgrimage city and boils with hundreds of Indians eager to bathe in the Ganges, ring temple bells or just enjoy the nudge of the weekend crowds.

The air is almost as polluted as in Amritsar (a one day visit you can also read about on my blog: http://journals.worldnomads.com/tedigeorgieva/post/12084.aspx ), so we have limited our walks to a minimum: yoga - lunch - Internet. After 10 days of searching for a quiet place to stay, which included the transportation of our backpacks and ourselves on two motorbikes ( the driver and the two of us on one of them!), we found a quaint place looked after by a petite Indian lady, who calls herself "mama" and looks like she lives up to her name.

It seems like the cultural shock we've been expecting since we arrived to India is finally happening and we are grateful to have each other to share this profoundly different world. We find it curious, annoying and amusing at the same time to wonder why the devotional fervor here easily co-exists with scam and corruption, or why our waiter insists on seeing cheese in the sandwich while looking at a peace of almost dry toast, or why it is considered acceptable to ask such questions as "what is your salary" at first encounter, or why in country where living is often a fight for survival people are incurably full of hope and benevolence... In attempt to solve some of the puzzle, I and Misha are devouring a list of books recommended to us by a couple of International Politics students from Delhi, who we met at the art conference in Bir.

One of the reads "Being Indian" by P.Varma suggests that in 21st century every sixth person will be an Indian, so learning about this ancient culture seems only prudent :-)

Besides nourishing our travel "wounds" we are also exploring the yoga market here. So far I have greatly enjoyed a class given by a British instructor in the round building of the Kria Yoga Ashram. Her calm and flowing vocalisations have made the practice harmonious and wholesome, unlike many other classes I've taken which remain just sequences of different postures.

The Indian teachers we've checked out so far have been of the "do it like me" type, where you have to copy the shown assana (posture) often with very little information on body alignment or breath. I am starting to suspect that this is a deeply Asian style of teaching: the teacher demonstrates - the student repeats....with blind faith, devotion, and reverence.

On the positive side, the student develops discipline and perseverance...

To explore the above theory and to challenge my rigid training I am planning to take some vocal lessons at the nearest music studio. On this note, music in India is an inseparable part of everyday life. People just burst out singing as they walk, work or rest. In Ladakh, our hosts had a song for every activity, be that cooking or ploughing the fields. The last one was my favourite: when for the first time I heard the simple call on a fourth up and then a gentle slide on a fifth down, I thought a professional singer was practicing warm ups on fresh air :-) To add to this phenomenon of singing voices, imagine singing men! I can see my choral colleagues always famishing for male voices in their choirs overwhelmed with longing and jealousy :-) Yes, men sing here, sing beautifully, everywhere: Misha's barbers sing (not in harmony but in tune), our Yoga teachers sing resonantly and with feeling, porters sing, cooks sing.... The intricate tunes they produce with ease and grace fascinate and inspire me.

Stay tuned for my Indian singing progress chart :-) already from Nepal, our next destination.

Meanwhile I would like to wish all of you a peaceful and relaxed preparation for the approaching winter holidays, and to my colleagues - fulfilment and joy from the upcoming concerts, and most importantly, gratitude to yourselves and people you work with for the immeasurable love and happiness you bring to the world through the art of music!

Thank you for your warm homey letters!

Much love,

Teodora

P.S.: Check out Misha's flickr : http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/

and his blog http://journals.worldnomads.com/misha/

Amritsar

tedigeorgieva — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 20:39:00 GMT

After more than 3 months of dwelling in the north of India and enjoying the quietude of meditation halls and empty mountains, we are headed to the more Hindu part of the continent...well at least as Hindu as a Sikh capital can be.

Amritsar is known for its tourist and pilgrimage land mark, the Golden Temple. We believed that as a place of religious devotion it would be a smooth transition to the more bustle full and notoriously noisy Indian cities. As if we had not learnt from our stay in Istanbul that devotion and religious fervor in Asia does not necessarily mean silent contemplation!!!

"This can't be it!" - is the first thought I remember from the moment of entering the town. Thick gray blanket of fumes, transportation vehicles of all possible shapes, forms and speed, driving, cycling, pushing, rolling and galloping in all directions, colorful turbans and saris, and....SOUND, many millions of tiny screeches, rustles, whooshes, tongue clicks and exhales, and monstrous honking, screaming, roaring and neighing.....a multiple of assaults on one's senses, one enormous collective beast...

We rushed to the Temple desperately hoping to find a shelter from the "insane world out there" and to shake off the dust and the exhaustion from the 10hr trip from Bir (we had woken up at 2 a.m. to catch the buss). The residences of the huge temple complex were not as easily accessible as we were told. After some arguing and futile efforts to persuade the militant looking Sikh gentlemen at the reception that we were not a threesome with the friend we were traveling with, we were given one room for the three.

Making our way to that room would have been quite smooth if we weren't stopped every minute by pilgrims approaching with "Where from?" or its variation "Which country, Sir?" (in India I can relax back and let Misha handle all questions as there are always addressed to the male.

We did finally visit the Golden Temple situated in the middle of a large rectangular pool, where pilgrims perform ritual baths while listening to the incessant chanting from the temple and the towers surrounding it. Even though alive with the constant move of the crowds circumambulating it, the place breathed peace, I should say a certain joyful lively peace. My favorite impression of it were the reflexions of the glistening gold and the color on people in the waters of the pool (which you can see in Misha's beautiful pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157603252840196/detail/

and the detailed mosaic on the white tiles of the base of the temple (too fine to be photographed).

Marveling at Misha's photo work at the Golden Temple, I caught myself finding the place much more captivating than I did in reality. It made me ponder... What was in the pictures that made things different? Or what was NOT there? The pictures framed a detail, pointed at circumstantial combination of color and shape, removing the distractions from it (in a way ikebana masters do that when trimming a rich blossoming branch). The photographs also filtered the pollution, the wet-gridy-dirty feeling of the bare feet(which created a deep connection with the thousands of people walking barefoot and the enormous kitchen all these people were fed in for free), removed the intense stares directed at us...........made it all perfect. If only we could capture moments in such a way!

The night spent in the guest house of the Temple matched the earlier impressions. At 10 p.m. the Holly Book of the Sikhs was "put to bed" ( a special ritual was performed for this purpose), and we collapsed in our beds unable to even share impressions of the day. The temple chanting was far and lulling until....not long after we had fallen asleep it was renewed with a mighty rigor amplified from the loud speakers of the nearest to us tower. I appreciate devotional music, but 8hrs of LOUD night chanting, often quite badly performed, crazy harmonium and drums couldn't challenge the music love only of a pilgrim, which we unfortunately were not.

Naturally, we decided that one day of sightseeing in Amritsar was quite enough, and even a bicycle rickshaw driver we hired to the Art Gallery could not convince us that the town was a relaxing place (in comparison with Delhi). That night we happily embarked on a train to Hardwar.

Guru shopping

tedigeorgieva — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 18:53:00 GMT

One of the Indian myths to be unveiled is the belief that all white bearded gurus, sieges, and enlightened teachers dwell somewhere here between the Himalayas and the Ganges, and if only you opened your heart and humbly touched their feet...

Surprise! Enlightenment does not have a definite geographic address and seems to be found in India or Europe, or America or anywhere else you happened to be (mind you, the principal of opened heart would be still valid).

Our guru "shopping" in India has been full of hopes for teachers as accessible and approachable as the Buddha himself. The last months have proved to me that any aspirations of finding the "ideal" teacher are naive, unrealistic, and frankly disrespectful to who I and many Westerners in fact are - a product of a very complex culture, under which influence we have learnt to discriminate and think independently, to search and listen for guidance from outside but also within ourselves, to draw from many sources in our query about the world. Today I feel there can't be one teacher for me, "the one", "the enlightened" I want to follow. But let me explain.

Eastern culture emphasises strongly the need of a guru, a guide and a vital support on any one's spiritual path. As I understood it before, it meant looking for a person who would naturally excite and motivate you on your way, a person to revere and measure up to. It is clear now why my encounters with Buddhist and Yoga teachers gave a mighty blow onto my expectations. The Tibetan teachers I an Misha visited in Dharamsala although very knowledgeable, focused and exotic in their cold Himalayan way did not inspire my impatient academic mind trained to digest gigabytes of information on regular basis. Tibetans teach as if there were lifetimes allotted for dharma study :-) Their roundabout way of pointing to the tiniest essence challenged me more than the teachings themselves :-)

In this context, I and Misha were looking forward to the Introduction to Buddhism course given by the Tushita monastery in Mcleod Ganj. The course was taught by a Western Buddhist nun and a new expectation arose: to receive a translation of the teachings, which would be sensitive to the western emotional and psychological world. Alas! Even though the teachings were much more entertaining and dynamic than the ones we got at the Tibetan Library, they were not less traditional and we had to battle again with the terms so tricky as "self", "anger and self assertion", "attachment" and "compassion". Here is a little light at the end of the tunnel: teachers that awake any emotion in us, even disagreement or irritation, are doing us more good that those who leave us indifferent. The reactions we had to the teachings during the course lead to much reading and contemplation, which at the end felt fruitful and somewhat satisfying.

I highlight of our stay in Dharamsala for me was the opportunity to meet with Ani (Tibetan nun) Tenzin Palmo, who gave a short question-answer session at Tushita. I had read a collection of her talks as well as biographical work on Tenzin Palmo's striking will and determination in her 12 year cave retreat in the mountains of the Himalayas, but I could not possibly imagine that a single person could literally shower a room of 100 and more with love and that it would be perceivable. I know it sounds cheesy, but I have never been moved in my life by someones pure presence! I did not relate to this woman's ambitions to become the female Bodhissatva (enlightened) or to her affinity to austere life and solitude. Yet, her mere walking into the room and then looking at the crowd gathered there in part to satisfy their curiosity brought tears to my eyes. I was astonished to find myself feeling the same way after she had left the room, just much motivated to see her again, ask my questions, argue with her :-), just be in her presence.... Do I sound devotional? :-)

To add to our collection of "gurus" we headed to Bir, a curious place just south of Mcleod Ganj which is an abode to hot headed para gliders, and "cold headed" dharma students. A tiny village as it is, the settlement managed to cater to both groups offering mountains and richest Tibetan monasteries we had seen so far. The Deer Park Institute for Indian Culture was offering a retreat on awareness in the art process. The lectures and workshops on poetry, calligraphy, ikebana, and even Indian music were delightful, but the centre of the retreat were the teachings of a Tibetan rinpoche, well known and followed by many Westerners. Our curiosity satisfied, we left Bir still wondering at what attracts people to rinpoches (Buddhis teachers) who's teaching style, even when presented in a brilliant English, remains foreign and quite extravagant.

In the whole, my biggest challenge in the teacher searching process was to restrain my criticism and judgment. Naturally, when another westernised Tibetan guru residing in Bir turned us back when we asked for an audience I felt completely defeated :-) May be, if I had the knowledge of my learning needs, that is to meet many people and to draw from numerous sources, I wouldn't have put so much expectations on each of the teachers we met.

As for the Yoga teachers, read my letter on Rishikesh :-)

For pictures see: http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157603252719534/detail/

Letter from Ladakh

tedigeorgieva — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 20:22:00 GMT

Dear Friends,

Hope that this letter finds you in good health and spirit!

I am writing it from Ladakh, one of the highest and driest human habitats on Earth, which geographically belongs to India and culturally harbours the traditional pre-Chinese Tibet.

We headed to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, almost a month ago in the hope to exchange the mouldy rains of Dharamsala for the sunny high altitude of the Himalayan range.

The road to Leh was an adventure on its own. We started off from MacLeod Ganj in a "delux" mini bus (Indians have certain affinity to such words as "delux", "super delux", "emporium", etc ). It proved to lack the seats we had booked through an agency, and with reason: the seats we were sold were for a standard size bus. Seven hours of night roads cluttered with oblivious to the traffic sleeping cows, a tire change, a couple of anti nausea pills, and we arrived to Manali, one of the hill stations which provide relief from the hot summer months to thousands of Indian and European tourists. Not having any desire to be bombarded by the tourist industry, we decided to seek refuge in the near by Hindu village of Vashisht.

At 4:30 a.m. Vashisht was in deep slumber: there were no 24hr coffee shops, sleepy hotel receptionists, or even electricity. After wandering in the dark for awhile, backpacks and flashlights on, we settled on the steps of an ancient Shiva temple, which intricate wood carved structure was the only lit place at this hour. The night "vigil" paid back at 5:30 a.m. when the temple was opened and a sweet female voice sang a bouncy chant to Shiva to which a Japanese girl traveling with us from MacLeod graciously danced.

Vashisht staid in my memory as the village of rooftops. Everything happened above the houses: piles of grass were drying under the generous sun, kids played, women washed clothes and brushed their hair, travellers drank their morning tea... I can still vividly imagine that vertical slice of a theatre stage, where one could enjoy multiple plays simultaneously.

Here is our flickr page where you can enjoy views from this picturesque place: http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157601962788127/detail/

After resting for two days we continued our journey to Leh in another "delux" bus, this time indeed large with only four people in it including the two of us. Often, during our two day bus ride I was convinced that the bus will not be able to continue. The narrow roads, resembling more donkey paths rather than places for two vehicles to pass each other, the impossible cliffs, the breaks of the bus quickly fixed with a scotch tape kept us awake :-) Only the beauty surrounding us made it possible to bare the sight of Tata trucks violently crushed at the bottom of some unfortunate turns. My eyes kept on running between the improbable rock formations resembling sand castles built by some giant child-god, the waters flying down the sharp edges of the mountains, and the prayer flags torn by the winds at the highest passes. On top of this clash of extreme beauty and danger, was the crown of Indian black road humor: "This short cut can cut your life short", "If married, divorce speed"...(it looked like someone had had a really fun project ...)

It's been almost three weeks now since we arrived in Leh, 10 days of which we spent acclimatizing to the altitude, chasing our breath while climbing the steep hills to the ruined royal castle and the new Shanti Stupa. Leh is a charming unique place. The big white houses are adorned with carved wooden window frames and luscious gardens, neatly separated from the streets with low stony fences and streams of glacier water used for irrigation and household needs.

It is also a city speedily embracing industrial "development". One can see this in the abundance of Kashmiri vendors, Ladakhi trekking companies, jeeps and motorcycles generously puffing clouds of black fume into the crispy air, English, German, and what not bakeries and cuisines competing with Tibetan kitchens, and luckily, in the presence of numerous Women's associations raising awareness of the value of local organic products or the harmful effect of plastic on the environment. (by the way, the usage of plastic shopping bags has been band in whole Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir, and Himachal Pradesh!)

To meet with the local people and the mountains we decided to venture on a 10 day trek through the Hemmis High Altitude National Park. The so called Markha valley trek sounded like a walk in the park as it offered stays in village homes as opposed to the regular tents notorious with its unpredictable (until the first rain) quality. Little did we know!

Markha valley indeed is a stunningly beautiful walk when there is no need to cover in a day the distance to the next village, which could be anywhere between 3 to 12 hrs of gaping at monstrous cliffs, or of crossing rivers by jumping from boulder to boulder, or by strolling barefoot through the icy cold water, or of climbing passes way beyond our stroll effort. Wait, I am not finished complaining yet :-)

As for the passes, we had to cross two: the first at over 4.900 m, and the second at 5.100m. The last pass was in the middle of our longest day and was accompanied by snow-hail-rain that made us feel like survivors. This feeling became stronger when we learned that the only place to rest that night was the kitchen floor of the booked ahead house. In the village not even one house was willing to open its doors to late travellers!

This incident concluded for me a period of idealisation of the Ladakhi culture and hospitality, which had already suffered some erosion: a week of eating chapati (round thin bread) for breakfast and lunch did challenge my love for the entire humanity :-)

This 10 days taught me how difficult it is to stay open, understanding, even curios, while feeling vulnerable and dependant on an environment and people completely unknown (which sometimes translates as hostile). Ladakhi people still appear to me to be earthy, with jolly slow pace of life and healthy sense of humor, but their fears, like ours, build barriers of hatred and envy.

The last couple of days, I and Misha have been catching up on lost pounds and rest, and are planning day trips to the local Buddhist monasteries. A lot of our time is also spent reading, meeting people (mostly travellers like us), and working on our determination to meditate daily :-)

The lack of routine is making me feel restless at times, and I keep on reminding myself of the blissful moments of spontaneity and freedom.

Wish you much joy and peace!

With love,

Teodora

P.S.: I've finally made a tiny attempt to start my travel blog. Here is the site were you can read about our European adventures (promise to add more entries soon!) and enjoy Misha's wonderful photo work.

http://journals.worldnomads.com/tedigeorgieva/

Vipassana

tedigeorgieva — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 20:25:00 GMT

Dear Friends,

I am assuming that you all are impatiently waiting to hear about our Vipassana course and the benefits of silence:-)

Well, 10 days of quietude is a gift that every human being should have a right to. I knew my mind was tired of inner dialogs, my ears were yearning for rest, and even my jaws were aching of talking, but I had no idea how exhausted my entire body was of having to meet all the demands of the communication we are involved in incessantly.

For the duration of the course, we were asked to not talk to anyone but the management, and only in case of emergencies. This included no communication through writing or any type of body language. The fact that women and men stayed separated all through the course helped me and Misha bring our communication to merely a couple of sympathetic glances :-)

Each one was assigned a tiny cell (bed only) and a meditation cushion for the meditation hall, which for ten days I personally got to know to the smallest details :-) We were to surrender to the following schedule:

4:00 a.m. (I am not kidding) - wake up
4:30 - 6:30 a.m. - fist meditation session
6:30 - 7:30 a.m. - breakfast
7:30 - 8:00 a.m. - rest
8:00 - 11:00 a.m. - meditation
11:00 - 12:00 - lunch
12:00 - 1:00 - rest ( the only opportunity to catch up on sleep)
1:00 - 5:00 p.m. - meditation
5:00 - 6:00 p.m. - tea break. There was no dinner, but the masala tea, or chai offered were a balm for the stiffened by the hours of sitting body.
6:00 - 7:00 p.m. - meditation
7:00 - 8:30 p.m. - video teachings by Goenka,the person who claims to have brought Vipassana back to India from Burma, were it had been preserved as the original teachings of Buddha for 25 centuries.
8:30 - 9:00 a.m. - last meditation
9:30 - lights out. Oh bliss! to curl in my sleeping bag and listen to the thundering sky and similarly thundering monkeys (not as cute as you probably imagine) from there.

For three days and a half we were instructed to observe our breath while focusing on a small area of the face (nostrils and upper lip). At times it was fascinating to discover sensations I never new existed and at times it would be awfully frustrating to loose my own breath and have to dig it up out of the clutter of thoughts that kept flooding my meditation. (A frustration known to anyone who's tried to observe their own mind)

On the fourth day we were given knew instructions: we were now to use our sharpened attention to scan the body paying due to any sensations, gross or subtle, with equanimity. Easy! :-) Easy until one discovers that the scan needs to be done in a certain order which is not the order of appearance of the sensations, and no, one can not jump from the tickle on the nose to the stab in the shoulder blade and the blissful tingle of the numb leg.... And no, enjoyment and aversion one feels to these sensations does not mean equanimity (it is quite the opposite) and is not included in the "proper way of practice".

For the rest seven days we were to learn through our own experience that everything we know, feel or think of is impermanent and the best way to be with it is to be aware and equanimous. Ha! I had some glimpses of it, but my main realization was that to be this balanced, wise, compassionate and liberated being one has to work really hard. The retreat gave me an idea of what it takes to gain control over one's mind and ultimately over one's life. Time will show if I will be able or willing to pay the price :-)

While in search for the true meaning of life :-), I an Misha can not resist our tourist thirst, and are considering a trip to Ladakh for some hiking and sightseeing before we plunge in the next 10 day residential course "Introduction to Buddhism" back here in MacLeod Ganj. Meanwhile, we are doing some Iyanga Yoga hoping to stretch our meditative :-) bodies.

Love to all of you, and thank you for writing back!
Teodora

Letter from McLeod Ganj

tedigeorgieva — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 20:26:00 GMT

Dear friends,

I am in India!

The last 10 days have been filled with wonder, excitement and bewilderment. In fact, a sense of reality has just started to make its way into my mind.

I and Misha have settled down in MacLeod Ganj, Uttar Pradesh, Northern India. The area called Dharamsala is in the skirts of the Himalayas and is a shelter to the Tibetan government in exile and to many Tibetans who keep on arriving as refugees from Chinese Tibet every single day.

It is a beautiful place, secluded in the green of the mountains and the mist of the monsoon (yes, we are in the middle of it!) To keep you far from imagining an ideal cave of a sage-maditator, I'll mention the motorbikes and the everhonking mini and extra mini vehicles, circumdriving the cows that freely roam the already narrow streets of this mecca for young Western seekers of truth, spiritual guidance, adventure and God know what else. Still you could not even closely compare this with the cacophony of sounds that accompanied our taxi ride from the Delhi airport (but about it later).

We managed to escape the hum of the town by renting a room from a Tibetan family in a house up the hill, between the settlement and the Tushita meditation centre. Weekday mornings we climb the steep road to enlightenment to meditate in a group and we even took our first two day course in meditation and Buddhist philosophy.

About the place we live in, those who have questioned our capacity for peaceful co-living in the bachelor apartment in Toronto, would be truly impressed by the extend of this same capacity here. The room is half of the mentioned bachelor apartment with a tiny kitchen, which we learnt, we share with the local monkeys....(that it is when we store our vegetables too close to the bars of the window :-) We have hot water all the time, providing there is no electricity problem, and our landlords are real gems!

The town which population is largely Tibetan has its charm and I am starting to loosen up, meaning I don't jump at the first honk behind me and wait until it gets really close (the cows taught me there is no need of hurry :-) I and Misha have discovered some temptatios places to eat and may be even to learn how to cook this spice magic. Other plans include yoga courses and two meditation retreats: the notoriously ascetic Vipassana (10 days of silence, 12 hr of meditation daily, and very little food and sleep....), and the Tushita "introduction to Buddhism" which probably will feel like a Hawaiian vacation after the first one. Will write again after the silence. Stay tuned!

I hope you are all well and happy. I'd be glad if you shared what inspires you these days.

With much love,

Teodora

P.S.: I am also working on my travel blog and will let you know when it will be ready, so that I can share with you our European adventure. Please let me know if you do not wish to be on my distribution list. Namaste!

Istanbul

tedigeorgieva — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 17:02:00 GMT

Heat painfully intensified by splashes of wild colour, poignant smells of flowers and kebab, dark eyes piercing through bushes of black eye brows and mustachy smirks, tea offered everywhere one went, vendors of leather, of golden jewellery, of tea...

This is my memory of Istanbul in 1993, when I and my parents traveled on a shopping spree through Turkey.

Fourteen years later, I am in Istanbul once more... Heat delightfully softened by splashes of wild colour, poignant smells of flowers and kebab (which I don't eat!), dark eyes piercing through bushes of black eye brows and brilliant smiles, tea offered everywhere, especially in carpet shops where your tea comes with a carpet or two :-)

Not too different, yet new to me.

There was much to make me wonder and delight in this ancient city: the oriental charm, often skillfully used to sell a wide range of goods - from dinner to a boat tour, or a boat, the beguiling waters of the Bosphorus, the elegant touches in the architecture (pieces of colorful clay dishes in the facades), baklava (most delicate and unforgettable of all sweets!), and even the call of the muezzins (when not blasting out of high tech speakers of rivaling mosques at 4:00 a.m.)

The Turkish bath we wandered into was quite an unique experience, for me, not as dramatic as for Misha, as I preferred to explore it on my own. For those of you with strong nerves and a taste for thrillers, I will only hint that a Turkish Hamam with a masseur can be a rough cavalcade of stunts, especially when the service is offered to an unsuspecting of what is to come next gentle man from another part of the world.

( see Misha's account of the Hamams at http://journals.worldnomads.com/misha/ )

One of the highlights of our visit to Istanbul was the discovery of this fascinating place just a step away from the tourist centre. Steep paved streets were barren of any greenery. The only colour trapped between the dilapidated concrete buildings were the garlands of laundry.

Flocks of children and sheep took turns sweeping the streets, leaving dust and happy sounds behind to linger for awhile. Women wearing lace scarves on their heads sat in groups on the door steps and it seemed leisurely gossiped... may be about us, the only tourists in sight.

This was not the exotic world of sultans full of unimaginable wealth and opulence. This semi ruined buildings housed "ordinary" lives, I would love to know more about...

For more pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157601861580137/detail/

Family

tedigeorgieva — Sat, 28 Jul 2007 16:13:00 GMT

Unlike any other part of our travel adventure, the trip to Bulgaria was burdened with countless expectations, hopes and even fears. Will I be able to share with Misha the place I was born and raised in? Will he appreciate and understand it? How will I negotiate our meetings with friends and family?

No question could prepare me to the mild shock I felt when we first stepped out of the airport.

Here I was on my land, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds, coming to a home which used to be mine, a home inhabited now by strangers, but a key to each I still held. Yet, I was standing at its doors completely new, with a tangible proof of the new life I had lived somewhere else. Having Misha visit Bulgaria with me was like connecting or even reconciling my past and present, my life of childhood and study with my immigration to Canada and my adulthood.

I couldn't help the feeling of us being teleported from Toronto to Sofia in some kind of a science fiction movie.

A lot of my fears were not entirely groundless. In the heat of July, Sofia was far from the elegance and splendour of Rome and Venice. The dust of the new construction sights, the graffity, and the busy streets (which I loved to wander as a student) naturally did not appeal to Misha, though he did make a heroic attempt to go on a photo shoot :-) His fatigue from our endless travel for the last month made him see even the comfortable coach rid to Shumen as unbearable. The last I learnt when a month later he compared it to the dilapidated bouncy overcrowded bus we took from Shimla to Dharamsala.

On the other hand, the much apprehended meeting with the family (the old "will mom and dad behave themselves?" :-) went wonderfully! My parents gave us much space and freedom and even the family celebration in our honor left warm memories.

The few days we spent in my parents' house were full of leisure, tasting of village quietude and evenings in the garden under the stars.

Two impressions staid with me: a deep gratitude for my parnts' warmth and for the home they kept for me and for my loved one, and a strong determinataion :-) to give Misha a second chance to appreciate Bulgaria.

For Misha's impressions on Bulgaria and more, see http://journals.worldnomads.com/misha/

Bella Italia

tedigeorgieva — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 22:04:00 GMT

Trying to remember Italy....

Early morning arrival to Carpino International Airport, sunshine, a quick croissant and a cappuchino in a plastic cup (such a rarity in Europe!, the cup I mean) bought at the airport cafe, the thought "ah! Italian coffee!", and a bus ride to the central rail station - everything smelled and felt nostalgically familiar and welcoming.

By the time we got to the hotel we were helped by a dozen of sun tanned Italians, who would go out of their way to see us safely to the hotel, prbably inspired by Misha's ardent attempts to use the Italian phrases learnt in mid air :-)

Rome offered loads of Renaissance art, ruins, sunshine and.... tourists. Overwhelmed by the crowds and heated stone history, I was glad to escape into the embrace of the shady "tratorias", where I could enjoy the southern flare of relaxed hospitality, the superb "vino de la casa" and capuchino. ("ah! Italian coffee!")

From the cocktail of tourist attractions we sampled, my favourite yet was St.Clement's Church - a 12th century Catholic church, built on top of a 4th century basilica, built on the ruins of 1st century Mithric temple. One can still see all three sanctuaries (the first two as catacombs below the present church). A fascinating example of verticality of time!

Rome is a place to return again and again.

Here is to savour: http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157601834316997/detail/

London, UK

tedigeorgieva — Thu, 5 Jul 2007 23:50:00 GMT

It's been nine days since we left Toronto. An enormous sigh of relief! After all, the posessions are gone to friends and strangers lifting the anchoring weight they've been adding to my life. Still, our backpacks feel heavier than we imagined, and I and Misha are looking forward to delivering all the presents we carry to friends and family.

London received us in its rainy but crispy early morning. Although having had no sleep in the air we decide to check in at the hostel and go for a bus tour around the city. Oh, tourist's greed! It is beautiful and busy. We exchange exclamations of appreciation and loyally keep each other awake :-) until our nodding is obviously devout of enthusiasm and is rather embarrassing. We decide to give in to the sleepiness before we head back to the streets.

In the evening, we discover the little Venice (an overview to a later trip), the crowded pubs and of course the local bear. The next four days are full of delight and wonder: so much life and imagination breaths in the architecture of this city! The buildings, the bridges, the curves of the streets and lampposts - everything is built with love and understanding of human nature (well, may be with the exception of the left side traffic :-); even than, a compassionate mind has come up with the signs on the roads “Look left” and “Look right”:-)

I should mention the cultural decadency of London. Over 4 days we manage to go to the opera, visit three museums, one science exhibition and the aquarium. If we were not exhausted from our prep days in Toronto, London would see even more of us :-)

What a great way to start our long journey!

For more and better pictures see Misha's photo work at http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157601994010917/detail/